The  New  Journal 
of  Marie  Bashkirtseff 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 

(From  Childhood  to  Girlhood) 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 
BY 

MARY  J.  SAFFORD 


New  York 
Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 

1912 


£T  IZI8 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

Published  September.  1912 


1, 


<D 


The  New  Journal 
of  Marie  Bashkirtseff 


250602 


PREFACE 

THE    SOUL   OF    A    LITTLE    GIRL 

Marie  Bashkirtseff,  beginning  at  twelve 
years  old,  wrote  her  journal  ingenuously, 
sincerely,  amusing  us  by  her  whims,  thrill- 
ing us  by  her  enthusiasms,  touching  us  by 
her  sufferings. 

We  have  gone  through  these  note-books 
bound  in  white  parchment,  slightly  dis- 
coloured, like  the  winding  sheet  in  which 
sleeps  a  memory,  and  have  already  gath- 
ered a  volume,  precious,  not  because  it 
describes  such  an  entertainment  or  such 
an  event,  but  because  it  reveals  the  men- 
tality of  a  young  girl. 

This  time  we  have  been  especially  inter- 
ested by  the  first  books,  written  in  a  large, 
unformed  hand,  dashing,  variable,  follow- 
1 


y:  '♦¥!#»:  &*&&   JOURNAL   OF 

ing  the  successive  impressions  of  a  change- 
ful, sensitive  nature. 

Very  few  documents  exist  concerning 
children,  in  whom  the  nineteenth  century 
alone  began  to  interest  itself. 

In  fact  the  real  personality  of  the  child 
is  very  secret,  for  it  distrusts  these 
comprehensive  and  authoritative  beings, 
"  grown-up  people."  And  it  hides  its  iron- 
ical observations,  its  dreams,  all  the 
ardour  of  its  little  soul. 

Children  play.  They  have  built,  with 
sand  and  twigs,  a  fantastic  world  peopled 
with  their  familiar  toys :  a  grey  cloth  ele- 
phant, a  multi-coloured  duck  as  big  as  that 
white  plush  bear.  And  they  are  in  the 
jungle,  tracking,  hunting,  killing.  Then 
they  dance  round  to  a  secret  rhythm. 
Stop  to  look  at  them,  the  game  will  end. 
The  little  mouths  will  become  silent.  The 
child  will  always  hide  the  ingenuous 
2 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
observations     it     makes     with     its     clear 
eyes. 

Therefore  it  seems  to  us  very  interesting 
to  show  a  little  girl's  existence,  not  told 
from  the  distance  of  past  years,  but  writ- 
ten day  by  day.  Marie  Bashkirtseff  was 
a  child  of  precocious  intelligence,  ardent 
will,  extreme  intensity  of  life.  Maurice 
Barres  defines  it  sensibly  in  saying  that 
she  had,  "  when  very  young,  amalgamated 
five  or  six  exceptional  souls  in  her  delicate, 
already  failing  body." 

The  nomad  life  led  by  her  parents,  resi- 
dences in  Paris,  London,  Nice,  Rome,  has- 
tened the  development  of  a  vivid  intel- 
ligence. 

This  little  "  uprooted  "  girl  accommo- 
dated herself  to  these  varied  lives  with  the 
versatility  of  children,  but  she  knew  how 
to  reserve  her  personal  life  of  study.  It 
was  a  strange  intellectual  solicitude  of  the 
3 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
little  girl  living  among  idle  people  and 
dreaming  of  "  becoming  somebody  fa- 
mous." And,  completely  surrounded  by 
refined  luxury,  she  knew  how  to  see  the 
humble  folk,  whose  expressive  features  she 
has  inscribed  in  a  way  not  to  be  forgotten 
in  her  pictures. 

If  this  journal  reveals  a  precocious  in- 
tellect, it  preserves — and  this  is  its  charm 
— a  spontaneity  of  childhood— for  the  lit- 
tle Slav  was  a  bewitching  little  girl,  with 
rosy  cheeks  and  clear  eyes.  Has  she  not 
evoked  all  the  marvellous  imagination  of 
the  little  ones  in  these  words :  "  Because 
I  put  on  an  ermine  cloak,  I  imagine  that 
I  am  a  queen  "  ? 

Marie's  sentimental  life  has  greatly  per- 
turbed her  biographers.  They  have  ac- 
cused her  of  having  a  cold,  indifferent 
heart.  Others,  more  penetrating,  have 
seen  that  Marie  considered  love  as  a  re- 
4 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

ligion  for  which  a  god  was  necessary. 
Hence  her  dream  as  a  young  girl :  "  to  love 
a  superior  being."  And  she  wrote  to  Mau- 
passant. 

Jean  Finot  has  pointed  out  that  there 
was  something  "  infinitely  tragical  in  the 
approach  from  a  distance  of  these  two 
sublime  beings  already  stamped  by  death." 
Besides,  Marie  did  not  know  the  novelist. 

Another  person  interested  the  young 
girl,  Bastien-Lepage.  Their  double  death- 
struggle  drew  them  together  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  death  permanently  unites  their 
names  in  our  memory. 

So  let  us  not  seek  the  sentimental  secret 
which  Marie  did  not  wish  to  reveal  to  us. 
Goncourt  tells  us  the  story  of  that  Ho- 
kousa'i  who  signed  "  An  old  man  crazy  to 
be  conspicuous.9*  Let  us  think  that  Marie 
was  also  the  young  girl  crazy  to  be  con- 
spicuous. 

5 


* 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
But  let  us  go  back  to  an  idyl  little  known 
of  Marie's  twelfth  year.  The  fact  itself  is 
not  very  extraordinary.  The  little  girl 
is  training  herself  for  motherhood  by  lav- 
ishing caresses  on  wretched  papier- 
mache  baby  dolls.  She  is  practising  for 
her  part  of  woman  by  playing  at  being 
in  love.  Artless  little  affairs  outlined  in 
the  catechism,  pervaded  by  the  fragrance 
of  incense.  Very  similar  to  these  appears 
to  us  the  enthusiasm  the  little  Slav  felt 
for  the  Due  de  H .  Candid,  affection- 
ate little  girl,  she  says  deliciously :  "  I  love 
him,  and  that  is  what  makes  me  suffer. 
Take  away  this  grief,  and  I  shall  be  a 
thousand  times  more  unhappy.  The  pain 
makes  my  happiness.  I  live  for  it  alone.  All 
my  thoughts  are  centred  there.     The  Due 

de  H is  my  all.     I  love  him  so  much ! 

That  is  a  very  ancient  and  old-fashioned 
phrase,  since  people  no  longer  love." 
6 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
After  such  a  passage  of  captivating 
vivacity,  in  which  work  and  pleasures  in- 
flame this  ardent  vitality,  other  days, — 
numerous,  alas !  have  the  mere  mention  of 
a  date  followed  by  a  dash.  These  are  the 
stations  of  the  disease  when  the  charming 
body  was  weakening  like  a  dying  flower. 
And  there  were  the  alternations  of  hope, 
the  physicians  consulted  when  at  first  she 
believed  everything,  to  doubt,  later,  all 
the  remedies  with  which  their  pity  be- 
guiles anxiety,  at  last  the  resigned  almost 
certainty : 

"  And,  nevertheless,  I  am  going  to  die." 
Should  the  shortness  of  her  existence 
be  regretted  for  Marie?  Certainly,  thor- 
oughly in  love,  she  would  not  have  found 
happiness  in  marriage,  which  fashionable 
society  too  often  transforms  into  a  part- 
nership of  egotisms,  interests,  and  hypoc- 
risy. But  would  not  maternity  have  con- 
7 


MARIE    BASHKIR  TSEFF 
soled  her,  affording  her  a  delicious  refuge, 
her  who  bent  patiently  over  the  faces  of 
the  very   little   children,   expressed   their 
fleeting  occupations,  their  intent  looks? 

Sly  death  did  not  permit  her  to  finish 
her  destiny,  and  the  little  Slav  preserves 
for  us  her  disturbing  virgin  charm. 

In  that  villa  in  Nice,  where  Marie  Bash- 
kirtseff  lived,  clearly  appears  the  vision 
of  a  young  girl,  harmonious  in  the  white- 
ness of  her  usual  clothing,  with  a  gaze 
sparkling  with  ardent  life,  her  who,  Mau- 
rice Barres  says,*  "  appears  to  us  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  eternal  force  which  calls 
forth  heroes  in  each  generation  and  that 
she  may  seem  of  sound  sense  to  us,  let 
us  cherish  her  memory  under  the  proud 
name  of  Our-Lady  who  is  never  satisfied." 
Renee  d'Ulmes. 

*La  Legende  oVune  cosmopolite. 


NEW  JOURNAL  OF  MARIE  BASH- 
KIRTSEFF 

January,  1873 

(Marie  was  then  twelve  years  old.) 

I  must  tell  you  that  ever  since  Baden 
I  have  thought  of  nothing  except  the  Due 

de  H .    In  the  afternoon  I  studied.     I 

did  not  go  out  except  for  half  an  hour  on 
the  terrace.  I  am  very  unhappy  to-day. 
I  am  in  a  terrible  state  of  mind;  if  this 
keeps  on,  I  don't  know  what  will  become 
of  me. 

How  fortunate  people  who  have  no  se- 
crets are ! 

Oh,  God,  in  mercy  save  me ! 

The  face  makes  very  little  difference! 
9 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
People  can't  love  just  on  account  of  the 
face.     Of  course  it  does  a  great  deal,  but 

when  there  is  nothing  else They  have 

been  talking  about  B .    He  has  exactly 

my  disposition.  I  am  fond  of  society;  he 
likes  to  flirt;  he  likes  to  see  and  to  be 
seen ;  in  short,  he  is  pleased  with  the  same 
things  that  please  me.  They  say  he  is  a 
gambler.  Oh !  dear !  What  evil  genius  has 
changed  him! 

Perhaps  he  is  in  love — hopelessly? 

Happy  love  ought  to  make  us  better, 
but  hopeless  love!  Oh,  I  believe  it  must 
be  that ! 

No,  no,  he  is  simply  dragged  down  like 
so  many  young  men  by  that  terrible  gulf. 
Oh,  what  an  accursed  place!  How  many 
wretched  beings  it  has  made!  Oh,  fly 
from  it !  Take  your  sons,  your  husbands, 
your  brothers  away  from  there,  or  they 

are  lost.     B is  beginning.     The  Due 

10 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

de  H has  begun,  too,  and  he  will  go 

on,  while  he  might  live  happily.  Live  and 
be  useful  to  society.  But  he  spends  his 
time  with  wicked  men  and  women.  He  can 
do  it  as  long  as  he  has  anything,  and  he 
used  to  be  immensely  rich. 

Dr.  V has  said  that  Mademoiselle 

C *  is  ill,  that  she  may  live  five  years 

or  die  in  three  weeks,  because  she  is  con- 
sumptive. How  many  misfortunes  at 
once! 

If,  when  I  am  grown  up,  I  should  marry 

B what  a  life  it  would  be!     To  stay 

all  alone,  that  is,  surrounded  by  common- 
place men,  who  will  want  to  flirt  with  me, 
and  be  carried  away  by  the  whirl  of  pleas- 
ure. I  dream  of  and  wish  for  all  these 
things,  but  with  a  husband  I  love  and 
who  loves  me 

Ah,   who   would   suppose   it   was   little 

*  Marie  Bashkirtseff's  governess. 
11 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
Marie,  a  girl  scarcely  twelve  years   old, 
who  feels  all  this !     But  what  am  I  say- 
ing?    What  a  dismal  thought!     I  don't 
,  ,  even  know  him,  and  am  already  marrying 
^^  him — how  silly  I  am! 

I  am  really  much  vexed  about  all  this. 
I  am  calmer  now.  My  handwriting  shows 
it.  The  spontaneous  burst  of  indignation 
is  a  little  quieted.  It  is  soothing  to 
write  or  communicate  one's  ideas  to  some- 
body. 

B isn't  worth  while.     I  shall  never 

marry  him.  If  he  begs  me  on  his  knees, 
I  shall  be — oh,  I  forgot  the  word — I  shall 
be  firm.  No,  that  isn't  the  word,  but  I 
know  what  I  mean.  Yet  if  he  loves  me 
very  much,  very  deeply,  if  he  cannot  live 
without  me — vain  phrases !  Do  not  let  us 
meet.     I  don't  wish  to  be  weak. 

I  am  firm,  I  will  be  resolute.     I  mean 
to  have  the  Due  de  H — — .     I  love  him 
12 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
at  least.     His  dissipated  life  may  be  for- 
given him.    But  the  other — no ! 

While  writing  I  was  interrupted  by  a 
noise.  I  thought  some  one  was  going  to 
surprise  me.  Even  if  what  I  have  written 
were  not  seen,  I  should  blush  all  the  same. 
Everything  I  wrote  previously  now  seems 
nonsense.  Yet  it  is  really  exactly  what  I 
felt.  I  am  calm  now.  Later  I  will  read  it 
over  again.    That  will  bring  back  the  past. 

I  love  the  Due  de  H and  I  cannot 

tell  him  so.  Even  if  I  did,  he  would  pay 
no  attention  to  it.  O,  God !  I  pray  Thee  ! 
When  he  was  here,  I  had  an  object  in 
going  out,  in  dressing.  But  now !  I  went 
to  the  terrace  hoping  to  see  him  in  the 
distance  for  at  least  a  second. 

O  God,  relieve  my  suffering !    I  can  pray 

to   Thee   no    more.      Hear    my    petition. 

Thy  mercy  is  so  infinite,  Thy  grace  is  so 

great,  Thou  hast  done  so  many  things  for 

13 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
me !     Thou  hast  bestowed  so  many  bless- 
ings upon  me.     Thou  alone  canst  inspire 
him  with  love  for  me! 

Oh,  dear !  I  imagine  him  dead,  and  that 
nothing  can  draw  him  nearer  to  me.  What 
a  terrible  thought !  I  have  tears  in  my 
eyes,  and  still  more  in  my  heart.  I  am 
weeping.  If  I  did  not  love  him  I  might 
console  myself.  He  would  suit  me  for  a 
husband  in  every  respect.  I  love  him,  and 
that  is  what  makes  me  suffer.  Take  away 
this  anguish,  and  I  shall  be  a  thousand 
times  more  miserable.  My  grief  makes 
my  happiness.  I  live  solely  for  that.  All 
my  thoughts,  everything  is  centred  there. 

The  Due  de  H is  my  all.     I  love  him 

so  much!  It  is  a  very  old-fashioned 
phrase,  since  people  no  longer  love. 
Women  love  men  for  money,  and  men  love 
women  because  they  are  the  fashion  or  on 
account  of  their  surroundings. 
14 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
I  could  not  say,  "  On  such  or  such  a 
day  I  met  a  young  man  whom  I  liked."  I 
do  not  know  when  I  noticed  him.  I  cannot 
even  understand  these  feelings,  I  cannot 
find  expressions.  I  will  only  say,  "  I  do 
not  know  when,  I  do  not  know  how  this 
love  has  come.  It  came  because  it  proba- 
bly had  to  come."  I  should  like  to  define 
this,  yet  I  cannot. 

Now,  if  he  were  paying  me  attention, 
he  would  think  he  was  doing  me  honour, 
but  then  I  should  make  him  see  that  it 
is  I  who  honour  him  by  marrying  him, 
because  I  am  giving  up  all  my  glory.  Yet 
what  happiness  can  be  greater:  To  have 
everything — to  be  a  child  worshipped  by 
its  parents,  petted,  having  all  a  child  can 
have.  Then  to  be  known,  admired,  sought 
by  the  whole  world,  and  have  glory  and 
triumph  every  time  one  sings.  And  at 
last  to  become  a  duchess,  and  to  have  the 
15 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
duke  whom  I  have  loved  a  long  while,  and 
be  received  and  admired  by  everybody. 
To  be  rich  on  my  own  account  and 
through  my  husband;  to  be  able  to  say 
that  I  am  not  a  plebeian  by  birth,  like 
all  the  celebrities — that  is  the  life,  that  is 
the  happiness  I  desire.  If  I  can  become 
his  wife  without  being  a  cantatrice,  I  shall 
be  equally  well  pleased,  but  I  believe  that 
is  the  only  way  I  shall  be  able  to  attract 
him. 

Oh,  if  that  could  be !  My  God !  Thou 
hast  made  me  find  in  what  way  I  shall  be 
able  to  obtain  what  I  ask.  Oh!  Lord! 
Aid  me,  I  place  all  my  hopes  in  Thee. 
Thou  alone  canst  do  all  things,  canst 
render  me  happy.  Thou  hast  made  me 
understand  that  it  is  through  my  voice 
I  can  obtain  what  I  seek.  Then  it  is  upon 
my  voice  that  I  must  fix  all  my  thoughts, 
I  must  cultivate,  watch,  and  guard  it.  I 
16 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
swear  to  Thee,  0  Lord,  no  longer  to  sing 
or  scream  as  I  used  to  do. 

On  leaving  the  H 's,  I  was  wrapped 

in  an  ermine  cloak.  I  thought  I  looked 
very  well.  If  I  became  a  duchess,  a  cloak 
like  that  would  suit  me.  I  am  growing  too 
presumptuous.  Because  I  put  on  an 
ermine  cloak,  I  imagine  that  I  am  a  queen. 

Monday,  our  day.  We  have  plenty  of 
callers.  I  went  in  only  a  minute  to  ask 
Mamma  something,  in  my  character  of  a 
little  girl.  Before  entering  I  looked  at 
myself  in  the  mirror  hanging  there :  I  was 
good-looking,  rosy,  fair,  pretty. 

Suppose  I  should  write  everything  I 
think  and  everything  I  intend  to  do  when 
I  grow  up,  everything  I  mean  to  forget, 
and  everything  that  is  extraordinary?  A 
dinner  service  of  transparent  glass.  On 
one  side  a  certain  costume  and  arrange- 
ment of  the  hair;  on  the  other  side  a  dif- 
17 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL    OF 

ferent  costume  and  a  different  arrange- 
ment of  the  hair,  so  that  on  one  side  I 
shall  be  one  person,  and  on  the  other  side 
another.  To  give  a  dinner  by  letters.  I 
have  determined  to  end  this  book,  for  ex- 
travagant ideas  rarely  come  to  me  in  these 
days. 

March  14th,  1873. 

I  saw  Madame  V on  the  Prom- 
enade. I  was  so  glad,  not  on  her  own 
account — yes,  a  little,  but  because  all  these 
people  remind  me  of  Baden. 

There  I  could  see  the  Due,  because  he 
spent  nearly  all  his  time  out  of  doors,  but 
it  did  me  no  good,  for  I  was  a  child.  If 
I  could  be  at  Baden  now  for  a  summer! 
O,  dear!  When  I  think  that  Grandpapa 
made  his  acquaintance  in  a  shop.  If  I 
could  have  foreseen,  I  should  have  con- 
tinued that  acquaintance. 
18 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

I  think  only  of  him,  I  pray  God  to  keep 
every  trouble  from  him,  protect,  preserve 
him  from  every  danger. 

All  this  time  people  talk  about  the  Due 

de  H and  it  pleases  me  immensely,  if 

I  don't  blush. 

At  last  I  can  enjoy  some  bright 
weather  on  the  Promenade.  I  have  seen 
everybody,  and  I  am  happy.  An  hour 
driving,  then  walking,  but  the  rain  sur- 
prised us. 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  the  theatre, 
which  was  filled  with  fashionable  people. 

The  W 's  were  next  to  us.     I  talked 

about  the  springs,  horses,  etc.  To-day  I 
have  been  reflecting.  Not  a  moment  must 
be  lost,  every  instant  must  be  spent  in 
study.  Sometimes  (I  am  ashamed  to  con- 
fess it)  I  hurry  through  my  lessons  with- 
out understanding  them,  in  order  to  finish 
more  quickly,  and  I  am  glad  when  lessons 
19 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
are  given   me   to   review  because,   during 
the    following    days,    I    shall    have    less 
to  do. 

I  don't  intend  to  behave  so  any  longer. 
I  must  finish  what  I  am  learning  quickly, 
that  I  may  begin  serious  studies,  like  those 
of  men,  and  occupy  myself  more  with 
music,  commence  lessons  on  the  harp 
and  singing.  These  are  great  plans. 
They  are  sensible  ones,  too.  Are  they 
not? 

March  30th,  1873. 
I  have  been  dreaming  of  the  Due   de 

H .      He  wore  three  jackets   of  the 

queerest  cut,  and  was  at  our  house  to  look 
at  my  pictures.  He  admired  them,  and 
I  talked  with  him.  I  was  very  much  agi- 
tated, and  could  scarcely  conceal  it.  He 
talked  with  me  very  pleasantly,  and  spoke 

of  B .     He  said: 

20 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

"  I  was  talking  with  her.  I  made  her  sit 
down  and  I  spoke  of  you." 

Oh!  he  talked  to  her  about  me,  and  it 
was  on  my  account  that  he  spoke  to  her! 
How  happy  I  am !  At  last  my  prayer  is 
granted!  Then  he  brought  some  kind  of 
paper  or  something,  I  don't  know  exactly 
what,  to  ask  for  an  address  to  get  clothes, 
I  believe.  He  was  in  the  large  drawing- 
room,  talked  to  me  in  low  tones,  encour- 
aged me  by  his  frank  manners,  then  I  saw 
mountains  on  the  pictures  at  which  he 
was  looking.  It  is  strange  that  I  felt 
nothing  extraordinary,  and  I  was  less  ex- 
cited than  when  I  am  awake. 

I  was  happy,  I  was  calm  and  content. 

These  transports  overwhelm  me  at  the 

mere  sight  of  his  name,  for  I  am  not  sure 

of  my  happiness,  and  I  ardently  desire  it. 

S  But  when  we  have  what  we  desire  and  love, 

we  are  calm.    So,  in  my  dream  I  was  calm, 

21 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
for  I  no  longer  had  anything  to  desire. 
I  said  nothing,  in  order  not  to  interrupt 
my  happiness.    I  let  myself  go  gently  and 
quietly. 

What  was  my  surprise  to  find,  on 
waking,  that  all  this  happiness  was  only 
a  dream!  I  spoke  of  it  to  members  of 
the  family,  I  laughed  at  myself,  to  con- 
ceal my  joy  and  my  love  for  him.  He 
talked  with  me  tenderly.  Not  exactly,  but 
I  know  what  I  mean.  He  was  not  pre- 
cisely like  himself,  smaller  and  not  so 
handsome.  I  thought  I  had  reached  port, 
but,  on  waking,  I  find  myself  in  the  open 
sea  and  in  the  midst  of  the  tempest,  as  I 
was  yesterday  and  shall  be  for  a  long 
time,  perhaps,  until  he  comes  to  lead  me 
on  board.  That  is  a  commonplace  phrase, 
but  it  well  expresses  what  I  wish  to  say 
and  I  use  it.  Then  an  hour's  practice  on 
the  piano.  Then  to  the  Promenade. 
22 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
Mademoiselle  de  G wore  a  broad- 
brimmed  grey  felt  hat,  turned  up  at  one 
side.  O,  how  I  would  like  a  hat  like  that ! 
It  is  so  graceful.  I  would  like  a  hat  like 
that,  and  the  same  style  of  gown.  It 
brings  back  the  young  ladies  of  former 
days,  tall,  well-formed,  slender,  beautiful. 
One  would  say  that  I  am  raving  over  a 
gown  as  I  do  over  the  man  I  love. 

Tuesday,  April  8th. 
I  had  a  geography  lesson  to-day. 
While  looking  for  a  city  in  America,  my 
eyes  were  attracted  by  this  tragical  name : 
H — —  island  in  the  Arctic  Ocean.  It 
seemed  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  struck  me, 
I  did  not  feel  the  earth  under  my  feet. 
My  heart  beat  violently,  I  was  completely 
upset.  Can  I  doubt  that  I  love  him?  If 
he  knew  it!  But,  with  God's  assistance 
he  will  know  it  some  day.    God  is  so  good. 

23 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
He  has  given  me  all  I  have  possessed  up 
to  the  present  moment. 

Mademoiselle  C scolded  me  to-day 

because  people  looked  at  me  too  much  on 
the  Promenade.  While  returning  from 
church  we  talked  about  religion — then 
went  on  to  the  Due  de  H .  Made- 
moiselle C said: 

"  What  associates  he  has !  To-day  he 
is  with  the  H 's." 

I  want  to  describe  conversations  better. 
The  Due  de  H was  discussed.  I  de- 
fended him  warmly,  but  I  have  seen  that 
I  went  too  far. 

Good  Friday. 
At  church,  when  we  went  to  kiss  the 
tomb  of  Christ,  I  looked  at  all  the  faces 
and  suddenly  his  appeared  as  if  he  were 
24 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
there  in  person.  Never  has  it  presented 
itself  so  distinctly.  This  time  I  saw  it  as 
if  it  were  himself.  At  this  apparition  my 
heart  beat  violently,  and  I  began  to  pray. 
I  wanted  to  recall  this  beloved  face,  but 
in  vain.     I  no  longer  see  it. 

At  this  vision,  an  idea  came  to  me. 
There  were  a  great  many  flowers  near  the 
tomb.  I  took  a  daisy.  The  flower  is  holy, 
it  was  near  our  Saviour.  It  will  tell  me 
whether  our  desires  will  be  realised.  With 
a  throbbing  heart,  I  pulled  off  petal  after 
petal.  Yes— no— O,  God !  I  thank  Thee ! 
I  believe  this  prediction,  it  is  holy! 

I  don't  want  to  wait  any  longer.  I 
shall  die  if  I  stay  in  this  furnace.  It  is 
too  warm.  Knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened 
unto  you.  I  believe  that,  it  is  my  consola- 
tion. We  are  going  to  Vienna  Saturday, 
but  Mamma  will  stay.  There  is  no  pleas- 1 
ure  without  pain.  That  is  a  great  truth. 
25 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
So  we  shall  start  Saturday,  I,  my  aunt, 
Dina,  and  Paul. 

July  29th,  1873. 

During  the  journey  the  most  open- 
hearted  gaiety  did  not  cease  to  reign 
among  us.  O,  how  disagreeable  Italy  is 
on  account  of  the  Italians,  how  dirty  they 
are !  We  wanted  to  take  a  bath,  and  I  did 
not  expect  to  have  such  luck  in  an  Italian 
hotel  in  Genoa.  I  was  greatly  surprised 
when  they  brought  it  to  me. 

At  ten  o'clock  we  at  last  reached  our 
destination.  We  went  to  the  Grand  Hotel. 
Everything  is  magnificent.  I  am  pleased 
with  it.  I  wanted  to  take  a  bath.  It  is 
too  late. 

We  all  went  to  the  Exposition  and  saw 
a  part  of  Germany,  England,  and  France. 
The  costumes  were  heavenly. 

That  is  the  way  I  shall  dress  later. 
26 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
How  beautiful  art  can  render  finery!     I 
adore  dress,  because  it  will  make  me  pretty 
and  give  pleasure  to  the  man  I  love,  and 
I   shall   be   happy.     Then   dress   bestows  ^ 
Paradise  upon  earth. 

The  Russian  pavilion  is  extremely  beau- 
tiful, everything  is  fine.     We  breakfasted 

at  the  Russian  restaurant.     It  is  neither 

Y 
restaurant  nor  Russian.     It  is  a  sort  of 

German     beer-hall.      The     servants     are 

dressed  in  red,  a  perfect  caricature.     It 

isn't  surprising  that  Russians  should  be 

taken  for  Turks.     I  am  having  a  good 

time  to-day.     The  first  two  it  seemed  as 

though  I  was  in  a  lethargy.     That  happens 

to  me  sometimes.     It  is  over  now.     The 

Italian  statues  are  very  original.     There 

are  some  remarkable  expressions  of  face. 

Say  what  you  like,  our  native  land  is 

always  our  native  land.     Everything  that 

is  Russian  in  the  pavilion  is  beautiful.     I 

27 


V 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
looked  eagerly.  There  were  Russian 
names  on  the  goods.  My  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

At  seven  o'clock,  we  went  to  hear  the 
band.  There  were  a  great  many  people, 
the  music  was  very  captivating,  thor- 
oughly Viennese.  When  this  orchestra 
stopped,  another  began.  All  sorts  of  per- 
sons, members  of  the  imperial  family,  fash- 
ionable ladies,  young  dandies,  a  whirl  of 
gaiety. 

The  Viennese  climate  is  delicious,  not 
like  Nice,  which  is  burning  hot  in  summer. 

At  last!  We  are  leaving!  We  are  in 
the  train.  There  is  no  time  to  collect  one's 
thoughts.  We  pass  cities,  cottages,  huts, 
and  in  each  dwelling  people  are  talking, 
loving,  quarrelling,  bestirring  themselves. 
Every  human  being  whom  we  see,  smaller 
than  a  fly,  has  his  joys  and  sorrows.  We 
are  talking  so  much  of  Baden.  We  shall 
28 


MARIE    BASHKJRTSEFF 
pass  through  it  to-morrow.     I  should  like 
to  go  there. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  was 
waked.  We  were  approaching  Paris.  I 
dressed  quickly,  but  there  were  fifty  min- 
utes to  spare.  We  went  to  the  Grand 
Hotel. 

Paris  is  comical  in  the  morning.  Noth- 
ing to  be  seen  except  butchers,  pastry 
cooks,  boot-makers,  restaurant  keepers, 
opening  and  cleaning  their  shops. 

Toward  noon,  I  was  not  only  settled, 
but  ready  to  go  out.  In  Paris  I  am  at 
home,  everything  interests  me;  instead  of 
being  lazy,  I  am  in  too  great  a  hurry. 
I  should  like  not  only  to  walk,  but  to  fly. 
I  wanted  to  make  myself  believe  that  there 
was  society  in  Vienna,  but  that  is  impos- 
sible. The  hotel  is  full  of  a  very  good 
sort  of  English  people.  We  are  going  to 
Ferry's.  I  took  the  address  in  Vienna. 
29 


THE   NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
We   shall   buy   two   pairs    of   boots,    one 
black,  the  other  yellow. 

We  went  on  foot.  I  ordered  some 
gloves.  I  dress  myself.  My  allowance  is 
2,500  francs  a  year.  I  received  1,000 
francs.  Then  we  took  a  cab  and  went  to 
Laferriere's.  I  ordered  a  tete-de-negre 
costume  (three  hundred  francs). 

"  Here    comes     the    Due    de    H . 

Don't  jump  out  of  the  carriage."  My 
aunt  looked  at  me  sternly.  This  evening 
I  asked  myself  if  I  really  did  love  the  Due, 
or  if  it  was  imagination.  I  have  thought 
of  him  so  much  that  I  fancy  things  which 
do  not  exist — I  might  marry  somebody 
else.  I  imagine  myself  the  wife  of  an- 
other. He  speaks  to  me.  Oh !  no,  no !  I 
should  die  of  horror!  All  other  men  dis- 
gust me.  In  the  street,  at  the  theatre,  I 
can  endure  them,  but  to  imagine  that  a 
man  may  kiss  my  hand  drives  me  wild! 
SO 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

I  don't  express  myself  well,  I  never 
know  how  to  explain  myself,  but  I  under- 
stand my  own  feelings. 

To-night  we  are  going  to  the  theatre. 
This  is  Paris!  I  can't  believe  that  I  am 
here.  This  is  the  city  from  which  all  the 
books  are  taken.  All  the  books  are  about 
Paris,  its  salons,  its  theatres,  it  is  the 
perfection  of  everything. 

At  last  I  have  found  what  I  have  de- 
sired without  knowing  it.  To  live  is  Paris 
— Paris  means  to  live! 

I  was  tormenting  myself  because  I  did 
not  know  what  I  wanted.  Now  I  see  it 
before  me.  I  know  what  I  want.  To 
move  from  Nice  to  Paris.  To  have  an 
apartment,  furnish  it,  have  horses  as  we 
do  in  Nice.  To  go  into  society  through 
the  Russian  ambassador.  That,  that  is 
what  I  want. 

How  happy  we  are  when  we  know  what 
31 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
we    want!     But    an    idea    has    come    to 
me — I  believe  I   am  ugly.     It  is   fright- 
ful! 

To-day  is  the  first  time  we  have  seen 
the  Bois,  the  Jardin  d'Acclimatation,  and 
the  Trocadero,  from  which  we  had  a  view 
of  all  Paris.  Really,  I  have  never  in  my 
life  beheld  anything  so  beautiful  as  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne.  It  is  not  a  wild  beauty, 
but  it  is  elegant,  sumptuous. 

Since  Toulon,  I  have  been  the  prey  of 
a  great  sorrow.  All  places  are  indifferent 
to  me,  except  Paris,  which  I  adore,  and 
Nice. 

At     last!       We     have     reached     this 

spot,    Princess    G and    W met 

us. 

Mamma  was  not  there.     We  asked  for 

her  and  were  told  that  she  was   a  little 

indisposed.     The  truth  is  that  she  fell  out 

of  bed  and  hurt  her  leg.     We  arrived.     I 

32 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
made  her  sit  in  the  dining-room.     An  ar- 
rival is  always  confused.    People  talk  and 
answer,  all  speaking  at  once. 

During  my  absence  a  little  negro  boy 
was  engaged,  who  will  go  out  with  the 
carriage.  I  cannot  look  through  the  win- 
dow. I  can't  bear  this  pale  foliage,  this 
red  earth,  this  heavy  atmosphere!  So 
Mamma  said  that  we  will  stay  in  Paris ! 
Heaven  be  praised ! 

We  were  summoned  to  dinner,  but  first 
I  arranged  my  room.  Then  I  went  back 
to  the  drawing-room,  where  Mamma  was 
lying.  We  talked  and  laughed,  I  told  what 
I  had  seen,  in  short,  we  discussed  every- 
thing. I  fear  Mamma  will  be  seriously  ill. 
I  shall  pray  to  God  for  her.  I  am  glad 
to  be  back  in  my  chamber,  it  is  pretty. 
To-morrow  I  mean  to  have  my  bed  all  in 
white.     That  will  be  lovely. 

I  regard  Nice  as  an  exile.     I  intend  to 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
occupy  myself  specially  in  arranging  the 
days  and  hours  of  tutors. 

With  winter  will  come  society,  with  so- 
ciety, gaiety.  It  will  not  be  Nice,  but  a 
little  Paris.  And  the  Races !  Nice  has 
its  good  side.  All  the  same,  the  six  or 
seven  months  which  must  be  spent  there 
seem  like  a  sea  I  must  cross  without  turn- 
ing my  eyes  from  the  light-house  which 
guides  me.  I  do  not  expect  to  approach, 
no,  I  only  hope  to  see  this  land,  and  the 
sole  thing  which  gives  me  resolution  and 
strength  to  live  until  next  year.  After- 
ward! Really,  I  know  nothing  about  it! 
But  I  hope,  I  believe  in  God,  in  His  divine 
goodness,  that  is  why  I  don't  lose  courage. 
Whoever  lives  under  His  protection  will 
find  repose  in  the  mercy  of  the  Omnipotent 
One.  He  will  cover  thee  with  His  wings. 
Under  their  shelter  thou  wilt  be  in  safety. 
His  truth  will  be  thy  shield,  thou  wilt  fear 
34 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

neither  the  arrows  that  fly  by  night;  nor 
the  pestilence  that  wastes  by  day !  I  can- 
not express  how  deeply  I  am  moved  and 
how  grateful  I  am  for  God's  goodness  to- 
ward me. 

September  12th,  1873. 

This  morning  I  made  a  scene  with 
Mamma  and  my  aunt.  I  could  stand  it  no 
longer,  the  bottle  had  to  be  opened,  there 
was  too  much  gas  in  it.  I  wept.  It  lasted 
two  hours  and  a  half. 

I  asked  forgiveness.  Just  at  that  mo- 
ment some  one  said  that  a  house  on  the 
Rue  de  France  was  burning.  I  ran  to 
see  it.  We  were  all  at  the  windows.  The 
carriages  were  brought  from  the  stables, 
women  came  out  carrying  children.  The 
building  was  not  yet  in  flames.  There  was 
a  courtyard  surrounded  by  four  sheds 
filled  with  hay.  The  fire  flared  high,  but 
35 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

the  people  in  Nice  are  always  tjie  same. 
They  do  nothing  to  subdue  it,  only  stand 
at  a  distance  to  enjoy  the  spectacle. 

Oh !  if  it  were  in  Russia,  it  would  have 
been  extinguished  long  ago.  Our  fire  en- 
gines are  terrible  when  they  are  heard  a 
league  away,  every  quarter  has  one.  The 
firemen  in  golden  helmets  and  lots  of  little 
bells.  (The  noise  the  Due  de  H 's  car- 
riage makes  coming  from  a  distance  re- 
minds me  of  the  fire  engines.) 

At  last,  after  half  an  hour,  a  cart  ar- 
rived, dragged  by  ten  men,  what  a 
mere  nothing!  And  four  soldiers  with 
guns. 

No  doubt  they  were  going  to  extinguish 
the  fire  with  them !  But  it  was  out  before 
they  came. 

So  I  return  to  what  I  was  saying:  A 
complete  reform  in  my  costume  and  char- 
acter, I  will  become  kind,  pleasant,  gentle. 
36 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
I  will  try  to  be  the  good  genius  of  the 
house. 

I  want  to  make  myself  loved  and  es- 
teemed by  every  one,  from  the  meanest 
beggar  to  the  duke  and  king.  This  is  the 
promise  I  make  to  God.  Since  I  desire 
so  great  a  happiness,  I  must  deserve  it. 
That  is  the  way  I  hope  to  obtain  it. 

Therefore  I  make  a  solemn  vow  to  God 
that  I  will  do  what  I  say.  If  I  fail  once 
in  my  oath,  I  shall  lose  everything.  I  will 
address  myself  to  the  Holy  Virgin  and 
pray  her,  with  Her  Son,  to  guide  and 
protect  me. 

I  rose  at  five  o'clock  to-day.  I  have 
worked  well,  I  am  satisfied  with  myself. 
How  happy  we  are  when  we  are  content 
with  ourselves  !  All  the  rest  matters  little ; 
we  find  everything  satisfactory,  we  are 
happy.  My  happiness  depends  upon  my- 
self. I  have  only  to  study  well. 
37 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OT 

September  15th,  1873. 

I  spoke  Italian  to-day  for  the  first 
time.  Poor  M.  (my  professor)  almost  fell 
in  a  faint,  or  threw  himself  out  of  the 
window.  I  can  say  that  I  speak  English, 
French,  Italian,  and  am  learning  German 
and  Latin.  I  am  studying  seriously.  Day 
before  yesterday  I  took  my  first  lesson  in 
physics.  Oh,  how  well  pleased  with  my- 
self I  am ! 

I  have  received  the  Derby,  I  found  a 
number  of  horses  entered  by  the  Due  de 

H .      The  races   at  Baden!     How  I 

should  like  to  be  there.  Nothing  prevents 
me,  but  I  will  not  go.  I  must  study.  And 
with  a  heavy  heart  I  read  of  the  horse 
races.  I  calm  myself  with  great  difficulty 
and  comfort  myself  by  saying :  "  Let  us 
study;  our  turn  will  come,  if  it  is  God's 
will." 

I  have  read  this  journal.  My  eyes  are 
38 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

glittering,  my  hands  are  frozen.  There  is 
no  doubt  of  it.  I  adore,  I  adore — horses. 
They  are  my  life,  my  soul,  my  happiness. 
By  chance  I  shook  my  whip.  There  was 
the  same  hissing  sound  as  at  the  races. 
I  jumped.  I  no  longer  know  where  I  am. 
Come ;  it  mustn't  be  talked  about. 

September  20th. 
Only  at  five  o'clock  I  am  free,  and  I 
am  going  to  the  city  with  the  Princess  and 
Dina.  In  the  French  lesson  I  read  Sacred 
History,  the  Ten  Commandments  of  God. 
It  says  we  must  not  make  unto  ourselves 
graven  images  of  anything  that  is  in  the 
heavens.  The  Latins  and  the  Greeks  were 
wrong,  they  were  idolaters  who  worshipped 
statues  and  paintings.  I,  too,  am  very  far 
from  following  this  method.  I  believe  in 
God,  our  Saviour,  the  Virgin,  and  I  honour 
some  of  the  saints,  not  all,  for  there  are 
39 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
some  that  are  manufactured  like  plum 
cakes.  May  God  forgive  this  reasoning  if 
it  is  wrong.  But  in  my  simple  mind  this 
is  the  way  things  are  and  I  cannot  change 
them. 

Shall  I  ever  believe  that  God  has  com- 
manded a  tabernacle  to  be  built  to  have 
His  oracle  heard  from  the  ark  in  it?  No, 
no!  God  is  too  great,  too  sublime  for 
these  unbearable  Pagan  follies.  I  worship 
God  in  everything.  People  can  pray 
everywhere,  and  He  is  everywhere  present. 

I  went  to  the  city  for  a  turn  on  the 
Promenade.  In  the  evening  we  played 
kings  again,  but  the  game  isn't  sufficiently 
interesting.  We  played  like  amateurs. 
For  all  that  I  had  a  good  time  and  laughed 
heartily. 

G came  and — I  no  longer  remember 

in  what  connection — said  that  human  be- 
ings  are   degenerate   monkeys.      He  is   a 
40 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

little  fellow  who  gets  his  ideas  from  Uncle 

N . 


"  Then,"  I  said  to  him,  "  you  don't  be- 
lieve in  God  ?  "  He :  "  I  can  believe  only 
what  I  understand." 

Oh,  the  horrid  fool!  All  the  boys  who 
are  beginning  to  grow  moustaches  think 
like  that.  They  are  simpletons  who  believe 
that  women  cannot  reason  and  understand. 
They  regard  them  as  dolls  who  talk  with- 1 
out  knowing  what  they  are  saying.  With 
a  patronising  manner  they  let  them  go 
on.  He  has  doubtless  read  some  book  he 
did  not  understand,  whose  passages  he  re- 
cites. He  proves  that  God  could  not 
create  because  at  the  poles  bones  and 
frozen  plants  have  been  found.  Then  these 
lived,  and  now  there  are  none. 

I  say  nothing  against  that.     But  was 
not  our  earth  convulsed  by  various  revolu- 
tions before  the  creation  of  man?    We  do 
41 


»H 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
not  take  literally  the  statement  that  God 
created  the  world  in  six  days.  The  ele- 
ments were  formed  during  ages  and  ages. 
But  can  we  deny  God  when  we  look  at  the 
sky,  the  trees,  and  men  themselves? 
Would  we  not  say  that  there  is  a  hand 
which  directs,  punishes,  and  rewards — the 
hand  of  God? 

October  5th. 
We  went  with  Paul  to  a  secluded  part  of 
the  garden  to  shoot.  My  hands  trembled 
a  little  when,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
I  took  a  loaded  gun,  especially  because 
Mamma  was  so  frightened.  I  chose  a 
pumpkin  twenty  paces  awa}r  for  a  target, 
and  shot  capitally.  The  whole  charge  was 
in  the  pumpkin.  The  second  time  I  fired 
at  a  piece  of  paper  twenty  centimetres 
square ;  again  I  hit,  and  a  third  time  a  leaf. 
Then  I  grew  very  proud  and  smiling.  All 
42 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
fear  disappeared  and  it  seems  as  if  I  had 
courage  enough  to  go  to  war. 

I  carried  the  pumpkin,  the  paper,  and 
the  leaf  in  triumph  to  show  to  Mamma, 
who  is  very  proud  of  me. 

Really,  what  harm  is  there  in  shooting? 
I  need  not  become  on  that  account  one  of 
those  detestable  men-women  with  specta- 
cles, masculine  coats,  and  canes.  To  fire  a 
gun  will  not  prevent  my  being  gentle,  lova- 
ble, graceful,  slender,  vaporous  (if  I  may 
use  the  word),  and  pretty. 

While  shooting  I  am  a  man;  in  the 
water  a  fish;  on  horseback  a  jockey;  in 
a  carriage  a  young  girl ;  at  an  evening  en- 
tertainment a  charming  woman;  at  a  ball 
a  dancer;  at  a  concert  a  nightingale  with 
notes  extra  low  and  high  like  a  violin.  I 
have  something  in  my  throat  which  pene- 
trates the  soul,  and  makes  the  heart  leap. 

Seeing  me  with  the  gun,  no  one  would 
43 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
imagine  I  could  be  indolent  and  languish- 
ing at  home.  Yet,  sometimes,  when  I  un- 
dress in  the  evening,  I  put  on  a  long  black 
cloak  which  half  covers  me  and  sit  down 
in  an  armchair.  I  seem  so  weak,  so  grace- 
ful (which  I  am  in  reality)  that  again  no 
one  would  imagine  I  could  shoot. 

I  am  a  rarity.  I  shall  be  highly  edu- 
cated, if  God  wills  that  I  should  live  and 
blesses  me.  I  am  perfectly  formed,  my 
face  is  pretty  enough,  I  have  a  magnificent 
voice,  intellect,  and  I  shall  be,  withal,  a 
woman.  Happy  the  man  who  will  have  me. 
He  will  possess  the  earthly  Paradise ! 
Provided  that  he  knows  how  to  appreciate 
me! 

I  lack  everything  here,  and  yet  I  adore 
Nice.  We  always  love  what  does  not  love. 
Sic  facta  sumus.  Everywhere  else  I  am 
visiting,  at  Nice  I  am  at  home,  and  the 
proverb  says :  However  well  off  we  may 
41 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

be  while  visiting,  we  are  better  off  at  home. 
Nice !    Nice !    Thou  ingrate ! 

I  adore  Nice  and  admire  it  from  my 
window.  I  am  happy  and  animated. 
Why?  I  don't  know.  After  all— Ah!  let 
me  alone !  The  cards  tell  the  truth,  I  be- 
lieve in  the  cards ;  they  have  always  said 
yes  to  me.  I  must  have  an  occupation,  I 
am  of  a  warlike  disposition.  I  am  ready 
for  everything.  I  ask  only  an  idea. 
No  doubt  I  shall  be  depressed  to-mor- 
row, for  this  evening  I  am  certainly  on 
stilts. 

The  tower  clock  is  striking  nine. 
Lovely  tower ;  lovely  I !    Ah !    H . 

October  8th,  1875. 

We  went  to  N 's.    The  good  woman 

vexed  and  made  me  laugh  at  the  same 
time. 

"  The  first  thing  to  be  done  in  Rome," 
45 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
said  Mamma,  "  is  to  get  teachers  of  sing- 
ing and  painting." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  am  going  to 
visit  the  galleries." 

"  But  what  will  you  do  there  ?  "  asked 
Madame  S — — . 

"  Why,  copy,  study." 

"Oh,  but  you  are  so  far  from  that 
point,"  she  said  earnestly. 

You  understand,  this  foolish  woman 
judges  me  in  that  way ;  but  pshaw.  What 
do  I  care?  Yet  put  yourself  in  my  place, 
and  you  will  comprehend  my  annoyance, 
my  irritation. 

The  good  God  is  cruel.  He  gives  me 
nothing.  To  ask  the  simplest,  the  most 
possible  thing,  to  ask  it  as  a  mercy,  as  a 
happiness,  to  believe  in  God,  to  pray  to 
Him,  and  to  have  nothing!  Oh!  I  can 
see  people  scoffing  at  me  because  I  bring 
God  into  everything.  The  poorest  thing, 
46 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

by  resistance,  gains  value !  My  ugly  tem- 
per gives  importance  to  everything.  No, 
frankly,  I  must  become  sensible  and  mount 
on  my  pedestal,  raise  myself  above  my 
troubles.  Has  it  ever  happened  that 
everything  goes  wrong  with  you?  The 
hair  dresses  badly,  the  hat  tilts  every  min- 
ute, the  flounce  on  my  skirt  tears  each 
step  I  take,  pebbles  get  into  my  slippers, 
cutting  through  my  stockings,  and  prick 
my  feet. 

I  returned  exasperated,  and  that  horrid 

dog,  F ,  leaped  joyfully  upon  me.     I 

went  upstairs  and  it  pursued  me  with  its 
caresses.  I  kept  my  patience,  but  when  I 
reached  my  room  I  gave  it  a  kick,  and  it 
ran  howling  under  my  bed,  but  after  a 
couple  of  minutes  came  back,  wagging  its 
tail,  and  looking  at  me  as  if  asking  my 
pardon.     Oh,  the  dog!  the  dog! 

No,  never  shall  I  be  understood ! 
47 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
I  should  like  to  have  whoever  reads  my 
words  be  myself  for  an  instant  in  order  to 
understand  me,  people  cannot  comprehend 
what  they  do  not  feel,  to  do  so  it  is  neces- 
sary to  be  myself ! — and  also  myself  in  my 
lucid  moments. 

M is    seventeen    to-day,    and    we 

lunched    at    W -'s.     I    was    horribly 

bored.  Imagine  running  down  a  long  cor- 
ridor, so  long  that  you  cannot  see  the  end, 
springing  forward  and  finding  only  a  delu- 
sion, coming  with  your  outstretched  hands 
against  a  wall.     That  is  I ! 

I  rate  myself  above  everything,  and  the 
idea  that  I  am  placed  on  the  same  level 
with  any  one,  that  people  do  not  con- 
sider me  different  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  the  bare  idea  makes  me  angry.  I 
wish  them  to  forget,  to  trample  every- 
thing under  foot,  to  scorn  and  destroy  all 
that  has  preceded  me — I  desire  that  there 
48 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

should  be  nothing  before,  nothing  after — 
except  the  remembrance  of  me.  Then  only 
I  should  be  content. 

When  an  opportunity  offers,  I  will  ex- 
press my  meaning  fully. 


* 


I  went  out  with  neither  pleasure  nor 

eagerness.     N and  her  children  were 

going  to  walk,  and  we  enlarged  their 
party. 

"Ah!  if  you  knew  how  I  have  treated 
the  human  race  this  morning,"  I  said  to 

M in  answer  to  a  remark  I  no  longer 

remember. 

"  Ah !  if  you  knew  how  little  it  cares ! 
it  is  a  matter  of  no  importance,"  replied 
M ,  very  wittily. 

How  dreary  it  is  to  have  nobody  to  care 
for! 

My  head  is  heavy  and  my  eyes  are  clos- 
49 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
ing,  yet  at  the  same  time  I  want  to  write 
more,  the  pen  glides  easily  over  the  paper 
and,  though  I  might  have  nothing  to  say, 
I  go  on  for  the  pleasure  of  filling  the  white 
pages  and  hearing  the  pleasant  scratching 
of  the  pen. 

"  My  head  is  heavy  and  my  eyelids  close, 
Yet  still  my  gliding  pen  I  will  not  stay, 
Fain  would  I  tell  all  my  heart's  joys  and 

woes, 
But  cannot — though  so  much  have  I  to 

say." 

I  am  not  successful  with  serious  poetry. 

Sunday,  October  10th,  1875. 

I  was  going  to  talk  with  my  aunt,  but 

why  appeal  to  human  beings?     What  can 

men  do?     God  alone  can  help!     God  does 

not  hear  me!     Just  God!     Holy  Virgin! 

50 


MARIE  BASirKIRTSEFF 
Jesus !  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  heard,  but 
I  pray  you  for  it  on  my  .knees,  I  pray 
so  earnestly !  Is  not  prayer  a  merit,  how- 
ever small  it  may  be?  Do  not  the  most 
unworthy  obtain  what  they  ask  through 
prayer?  Is  it  nothing  to  believe  and  to 
turn  to  God?  And  though  I  should  write 
until  to-morrow  I  could  say  nothing  but 
the  words: 

"  My  God,  have  pity  on  me !  " 

I  who  thought  I  must  succeed  in  every- 
thing, see  that  I  am  failing  everywhere. 
I  shall  never  console  myself  for  it.  How 
everything  in  this  world  repeats  itself!  I 
went  lately  to  the  Aquaviva  terrace  and 
looked  to  the  right.  It  was  in  winter,  and 
the  mist  was  gathering  on  the  Promenade. 

I  saw  the  Due  de  H go  into  G 's, 

and  now  it  is  precisely  the  same  thing, 
51 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
only  then  I  ordered  myself  to  love  him,  and 
now  I  forbid  myself  to  love. 

Then  I  was  crazy  over  the  man ;  now 
he  interests  me  because  he  looked  at  me. 

In  a  word,  why  and  how?  What  do 
the  reasons  matter?  I  do  not  love  him. 
Oh,  but  I  am  so  provoked !  "  Come,"  I 
said,  "  rouse  yourself,  I  won't  cry  about 
that." 

To  straighten  myself,  throw  back  my 
head,  smile  scornfully,  then  indifferently, 
and  that  is  all ;  moisten  the  ropes,  as  they 
did  in  moving  the  obelisk  of  SixtusQuintus, 
and  I  shall  be  on  my  pedestal — and  I  have 
not  an  instant's  strength.  I  preferred  to 
stay  in  my  armchair  and  murmur: 

"  I  fail  in  everything  now." 

Confess,  you  who  will  read  these  lines, 
am  I  a  man?  Confess  that  I  have  reason 
to  be  angry  over  it. 

I,  the  queen,  the  goddess.    I,  who  should 
52 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
be  worshipped  kneeling;  I,  who  do  not 
want  to  move  my  little  finger  lest  I  should 
bestow  too  much  honour ;  I  with  my  ideas ; 
I  with  my  ambition;  I  with  my  pride!  I 
confess  that,  after  having  seen  him  go  into 

G 'a  like  a  master,  I  feel  a  sort  of 

respect  for  him;  he  acts  the  duke. 

This  evening  "  Alice  de  Nevers"  a 
comic  opera  by  Herve,  was  given  for  the 
first  time.  Our  box  had  been  engaged  a 
long  while,  first  proscenium  at  the  right. 
I  was  dressed  with  more  care  than  usual; 
hair  arranged  in  Marie  Antoinette  style, 
without  the  powder.  The  whole  was  drawn 
up,  even  the  fringe  in  front.  I  left  only 
a  few  little  locks  at  each  side.  My  beau- 
tiful white  forehead,  thus  bared,  gave 
me  a  royal  air,  and  at  the  back  I 
let  two  curls  hang,  waved  just  at  the 
end. 

Gown  of  dove-grey  taffeta  and  a  white 
53 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
fichu.  In  short,  Marie  Antoinette  in 
miniature.  I  felt  well  satisfied,  and  gazed 
at  the  base  multitude  from  the  height  of 
my  grandeur.  Lighting  a  giorno.  I  was 
looked  at  quite  enough. 

He  could  not  help  staring  at  me 
like  the  rest.  Everybody  came  to  our 
box. 

At  every  intermission  I  went  to  the 
back,  so  that  I  would  not  have  to  turn  my 
head  at  each  visit.     Just  as  the  curtain 

was  rising  the  Prefect's  son  and  A 

entered  our  box.  I  received  them 
with  perfect  ease;  he  has  a  foreign 
air. 

"  What,  Mademoiselle,  are  you  really 
going  away?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Monsieur." 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  as  if  he  had  been 
pricked  by  a  pin,  "  Mademoiselle  shall  not 
go." 

M 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
I  did  not  deign  to  answer.     I  was  cour- 
teous, agreeable,  but  cold.    He  turned  and 
asked  me  if  I  always  gave  trouble. 
"  Yes,  always." 

* 

We  are  going  to  the  S 's.     I  do  not 

see  M .    She  is  shut  up  at  home.    This 

is   what   has    happened — during   the   two 

months   since   the   C family   arrived 

from  Mexico,  he  has  no  longer  written  to 
her. 

I  know  that  people  who  say  what  I 
have  just  said  are  not  popular.  We  pre- 
fer those  who,  like  Dina,  veil  what  they 
know  by  a  false  sentiment  of  sham  deli- 
cacy and  misplaced  pity. 

Listen  carefully  to  these  commonplace, 

but    true    words.     C deserts    you. 

Write  him  a  letter  full  of  pride  and  with- 
draw with  honour. 

55 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

I  am  very  sorry  for  M .      C 

will  leave  Europe  in  three  days. 

Poor  M .    This  is  what  it  means  to 

love  with  the  heart.  I  understood  at  once 
when  she  told  me  that  C had  not  writ- 
ten to  her  for  so  long.  On  account  of 
anonymous  letters  he  received ;  because  he 
thought  that  he  no  longer  loved  her.  I 
instantly  comprehended  his  object.  I  am 
frantic  for  her,  when  I  think  what  a  satis- 
fied face  the  booby  will  take  with  him 
to  Mexico!  And  that  poor  girl  has  been 
crying  ever  since  this  morning.  I  am 
pleased.  I  foresaw  everything,  we  must 
hold  ourselves  proudly,  especially  when  the 
man  wants  to  draw  back.  He  invents  ex- 
cuses, and  the  poor  woman  believes  she  is 
deserving  of  reproach,  and  this,  that,  and 
the  other  thing,  while  in  reality  she  has 
no  cause  for  blaming  herself.  I  always  try 
to  protect  myself  against  every  affront. 
56 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

"  Yes,"  said  Mamma,  "  I  was  told  that 
you  received  him  yesterday  from  the  sum- 
mit of  your  grandeur." 

"  Not  only  yesterday,"  my  aunt  inter- 
rupted, "  but  for  a  long  time  past." 

"  That  is  true,"  I  replied ;  "  otherwise 
I  should  never  console  myself,  for  he  has 
wounded  me  by  confounding  me  with  other 
young  ladies." 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  we  have  no  C 

in  our  house,"  remarked  Mamma.  "  My 
daughter  is  pure  and  free  from  any  love." 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  said  my  aunt. 

*  * 

Oh,  women,  women,  you  will  always  be 
the  same. 

Learn  to  behave  yourselves,  wretched 
sex!     See  how  man  marches  straight  on, 
without  fear,  without  reproach,  and  with- 
out being   afraid   of   wounding   you;   he 
57 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
abuses  you,  and  you  endure  and  bow  be- 
fore it.  Oh,  you  men,  if  you  read  this, 
know  that  I  am  grieved  to  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  to  allow  you  so  much  impor- 
tance, but  it  would  be  both  bad  taste  and 
bad  tactics  to  decry  your  worth ;  the  value 
of  our  enemies  enhances  our  own.  What 
credit  is  it  to  conquer  dunces  ?  Know,  you 
who  wear  trousers,  know  that  in  me  you 
have  a  foe.  I  take  pleasure  in  magnifying 
you  men  in  order  to  maintain  in  myself 
the  noble  ardour  which  animates  me. 

Saturday,  October  23d,  1875. 
I  forgot  to  tell  my  yesterday's  dream. 
I  saw  some  mice,  against  which  I  threw 
cats  that  choked  them.  Then  these  mice 
became  serpents  and  went  into  their  holes, 
while  the  cats  rushed  upon  me,  especially 
one  that  scratched  my  right  leg.  It  is 
a  bad  dream.  Ah!  yes;  malediction!  I 
58 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

see  that  there  is  nothing  good  for  me  in 
this  world.  Why  do  you  want  to  live 
when  everything  fails,  everything  goes 
wrong?  We  have  courage  up  to  a  certain 
point,  we  make  ourselves  bold,  we  hope, 
but  a  moment  comes  when  we  have  strength 
no  longer. 

Well!  Jeer  at  me,  you  hardened  peo- 
ple. What !  you  will  say,  you  dare  to 
utter  such  words,  when  your  mother  is 
living,  when  you  have  an  aunt  who  wor- 
ships you,  a  mother  who  obeys  you,  a 
fortune  at  your  command,  when  you  are 
neither  infirm  nor  ill.  You  are  tempting 
God. 

That  is  what  you  will  tell  me,  and  I 
shall  answer  that  life  is  made  up  of  little 
things  as  the  body  is  formed  of  molecules. 
When  all  the  molecules  decay  and  go  to 
the  Old  Nick,  the  body  can  no  longer 
live.  It  is  the  same  with  life  when  all  that 
59 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

composes  it,  colours  it,  makes  it  lovable, 
is  lacking,  turns  out  badly,  when  every- 
thing escapes,  when  not  the  slightest  wish 
is  realised,  when  everything  vanishes, 
everything  deceives.  No,  to  go  on  in  this 
way  is  impossible.  So  I  believe  that  God 
will  recall  me  soon.  It  is  not  in  vain  that 
two  mirrors  were  broken  this  year.  Peo- 
ple will  say  that  when  we  are  young,  we 
often  feel  a  desire  to  die,  but  that  is  non- 
sense. I  have  no  desire  to  die ;  but  I  fore- 
see my  own  death,  for  a  life  so  useless,  so 
miserable,  cannot  last. 

I  have  interrupted  myself  ten  times  to 
weep  and  to  think  of  this  summer;  when 
I  compare  it  with  the  present  I  am  thor- 
oughly wretched.  How  many  lost  illu- 
sions !  What  hopes  deceived !  And  I  am 
rid  of  them.  I  was  going  to  say  that  my 
heart  is  torn,  but  it  is  not  true ;  my  heart 
is  whole,  my  mind  is  embittered,  and  de- 
60 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
ceptions  destroy  man.  Let  us  surround 
our  hearts  with  triple  brass.  I  will  trouble 
myself  no  more  about  this  man.  I  will  no 
longer  think  of  him,  I  will  no  longer  speak 
of  him  as  before,  I  forbid  myself  to  do 
it. 

October  24th,  1875. 

I  boasted  of  my  conduct  yesterday; 
there  was  no  reason  for  it;  if  I  appeared 
indifferent  it  was  because  I  was  indiffer- 
ent. These  people  don't  know  how  to 
talk;  the  Arts,  history,  one  doesn't  even 
hear  their  names.  I  feel  that  I  am  grad- 
ually growing  stupid.  I  am  doing  noth- 
ing. I  want  to  go  to  Rome — to  take  up 
my  lessons  again.  I  am  bored.  I  feel 
myself  being  gradually  enveloped  in  the 
spider's  web  which  covers  everything  here, 
but  I  am  struggling,  I  am  reading. 

At  the  theatre  P with  R ,  her 

61 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
good  friend,  as  they  say  in  Nice,  began  to 
yawn  when  she  saw  all  the  people  in  our 
box. 

Why  do  women  yawn  when  they  are 
jealous  and  curious?  My  mother  has  no- 
ticed it  a  hundred  times,  and  I,  too,  in 
my  short  life. 

Wretched  feminine  position !  Men  have 
all  the  privileges,  women  have  only  that 
of  waiting  their  good  pleasure. 

I  should  be  quite  proud  if  I  could  make 
myself  really  loved  by  this  man. 

Wild,  reckless,  ruined,  vicious,  fickle, 
brutalised  by  association  with  wicked 
women !  His  feelings  of  delicacy,  of  true 
love,  of  virtue,  which  are  the  bloom  of  the 
human  heart,  have  been  early  swept  away 
from  him.  The  desire  for  money  holds  the 
first  place,  money  to  lead  a  gay  life,  to 
support  the  riffraff  he  has  in  his  train. 
62 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
How  much  women  are  to  be  pitied!  It 
is  the  man  who  first  takes  notice,  it  is  the 
man  who  asks  to  be  introduced,  it  is  the 
man  who  makes  the  first  advances,  it  is 
the  man  who  gives  the  invitation  to  dance, 
it  is  the  man  who  pays  attention,  it  is  the 
man  who  offers  marriage.  The  woman  is 
like  this  paper,  this  nice  paper  on  which 
we  write  whatever  we  please.  God  does 
not  hear  me,  yet  I  will  not  doubt  God. 
Often  a  desire  to  do  it  seizes  possession  of 
me,  but  I  am  very  quickly  punished.  | 
Pshaw!    Life  is  an  ugly  thing! 


Before  dinner  we  went  to  walk,  it  was 
wonderful  moonlight.     I  said  a  thousand 

foolish  things  to  O ,  and  if  Dina  and 

M were  as  crazy  as  we,  a  great  scan- 
dal would  have  happened,  for  we  wanted  to 
63 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
dance   a   ring  around   a   priest   who  was 
passing. 

O is  writing  a  novel,  it  appears. 

After  dinner  we  went  in  search  of  her;  I 
shut  myself  up  with  her,  and  the  good 
girl  read  it.  But  at  the  second  page  I 
stopped  her  and  proposed  that  we  should 
write  one  together.  I  gave  the  idea,  every- 
thing, everything,  and  the  girl  imagines 
she  is  composing  too.  It  would  be  the 
story  of  Dumas  with  the  Tour  de  Nesle, 
but  I  shall  not  assert  my  rights.  I  am 
giving  her  a  love  scene  for  to-morrow.  She 
makes  no  pretensions,  and  asks  for  ideas, 
details,  and  love  scenes  with  perfect  sim- 
plicity. 

As  for  me,  I  set  to  work  and,  at  one 
dash,  wrote  the  first  chapter,  in  which  my 
hero  bursts  open  a  door  and  leaps  through 
the  window. 

People  are  doing  me  the  honour  to  busy 
64 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
themselves  very  much  about  me,  to  gossip 
a  great  deal  over  me.     Haven't  I  always 
desired  it? 

My  journal  is  suffering  because  I  have 
begun  to  write  a  novel,  and  I  shall  suc- 
ceed. Thank  Heaven,  I  am  capable  of 
doing  everything  I  wish.  Two  chapters 
in  two  days  is  going  on  finely.  I  have  read 
it  to  Dina,  and  my  story  interests  her. 
But  I  am  able  to  judge  for  myself  per- 
sonally, and  I  believe  it  will  go. 

While  we  were  walking,  surrounded  by 
a  group  of  young  men,  I  was  happy, 
proud,  and  of  what  ?  I  am  little  and  vain  ; 
I  took  good  care  to  express  a  wish  to 
return  to  the  carriage,  before  my  cavaliers 
desired  to  leave.  They  even  begged  me  to 
take  another  turn.  That  was  all  right. 
They  escorted  me  to  the  landau. 


65 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
Monday,  November  15th,  1875. 

All  day  long  the  day  of  the  opera  I  was 
restless. 

At  half  past  eight  o'clock  we  set  off. 
I  was  dressed  in  a  white  muslin  gown,  a 
plain  skirt  with  a  wide  ruche  around  the 
bottom,  Marie  Stuart  waist,  and  hair  ar- 
ranged to  match  the  costume.  A  very 
pretty  auditorium.  Everybody  admired 
me.  Toward  the  middle  of  the  entertain- 
ment, I  began  to  feel  as  lovely  as  possible. 
In  going  out  I  passed  between  two  rows 
of  gentlemen  who  stared  at  me  till  their 
eyes  bulged,  and  they  didn't  think  me 
bad-looking,  one  could  see  that.  My  heart 
swelled  with  pride  and  joy.  Leonie  came 
to  undress  me,  but  I  sent  her  away  and 
shut  myself  up.  As  I  entered  I  suddenly 
saw  myself  in  the  glass.  I  looked  like  a 
queen,  a  portrait  that  had  come  down 
from  its  frame.  I  no  longer  had  to  say: 
66 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
"  Ah !    if    I    dressed    as    people    used    to 

do "    I  was  dressed  as  people  used  to 

do.    I  was  beautiful. 

It  always  seems  as  if  others  did  not  see 
me  as  I  am.  How  unfortunate  that,  in- 
stead of  these  little  black  letters,  I  could 
*not  trace  my  portrait  as  I  was — my  won- 
derful complexion,  my  golden  hair,  my 
eyes  so  dark  at  night,  my  mouth,  my 
figure!  Those  who  saw  me  know  how  I 
looked. 

While  remaining  simple,  as  suits  one  of 
my  age»  barely  beyond  childhood,  I  was 
gowned  like  a  grown  person.  That  is 
where  the  difficulty  lies — to  be  like  a  grown 
person  and  yet  not  extravagant  and  over- 
dressed. 

Later  I  felt  very  unhappy  and  began 

to  sing :  "  Knowst  thou  the  land  ?  "  and 

fell  on  my  knees,  weeping.     Why?     It  is 

a  relief  to  lie  on  the  ground.     Because,  in 

67 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

the  last  scene,  a  love  scene,  P had  in 

her  voice — it  gave  one  a  thrill — I  would 
die  for  the  truth — and  joyfully. 

This  is  it,  he  who  slays  with  the  sword 
shall  perish  by  the  sword. 

It  seems  as  if  I  had  loved.  I  feel 
in  despair;  I  don't  know  why,  but  it 
was  a  torturing  feeling  and  made  me 
weep. 

Tuesday,  November  16th,  1875. 

I  left  Nice  to-day  with  my  aunt,  I  was 
ready  to  cry  every  instant. 

"Do  you  want  a  pillow?  "  she  asked. 

"  No." 

"Are  you  ill?" 

"  No.". 

"  But  you  look  so  pale." 

"  I  am  tired." 

"You  must  be  ill;  where  do  you  feel 
pain?  " 

68 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

"  Everywhere ! — Come,  Aunt,  don't  dis- 
turb me,  I  am  composing." 

"Ah!" 

"  Oh !  there  is  nothing  like  the  rolling 
of  a  carriage  to  give  ideas." 

"Aha!  That's  different;  well,  well,  I 
didn't  know." 

And  she  left  me  to  compose  at  my  ease. 
Then,  after  a  silence: 

"  Why  did  A turn  so  pale  when 

P began  to  sing:  'Knowst  thou  the 

land?'" 

"  How  could  you  have  seen  ?  For  my 
part,  I  can  never  notice  whether  a  person 
turns  pale  or  blushes." 

"  Yes,  you,  because  you  can't  see  at  a 
distance,  but  I  can.  He  turned  as  white 
as  a  sheet  when  she  sang:  *  There  would  I 
fain  live!'" 

"  I  saw  nothing." 


69 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
Wednesday,  November  17th,  1875. 

Many  things  have  changed  since  Mon- 
day. I  don't  wish  to  die,  no  matter  where 
and  no  matter  how,  and  I  have  since  been 
ashamed  of  myself.  I  meant  to  trifle  with 
the  man,  and  it  seems  as  if  the  man  was 
trifling  with  me.  This  insult,  joined  to 
the  wrath  I  feel  for  my  weakness  Monday, 
makes  me  detest  him. 

At  six  o'clock  we  arrived  without  having 
secured  any  accommodations  at  the  Grand 
Hotel,  so  we  took  rooms  at  the  Hotel 
Splendide. 

"  Is  it  worth  while  to  choose  for  a  hero 

a  miserable  Nice  scamp  like  that  A ?  " 

said  my  aunt,  "  and  to  write  a  lot  of  stuff 
about  him?  " 

Certainly  my  aunt  understands  nothing 

of  the  matter,  and  that  is  very  fortunate. 

I  do  think  of  him,  and  yet  if  he  loved 

me,  I  would  not  consent  to  be  his  wife.    No 

70 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

one  in  the  household  considered  him  a  suit- 
able match.  They  noticed  him  because  I 
was  interested  in  him.  They  talked  about 
him  because  they  saw  it  gave  me  pleasure, 
yet  if  I  said  I  wanted  to  marry  him  they 
would  think  me  crazy,  would  raise  a  loud 
outcry,  for  they  are  dreaming  of  a  throne 
for  me.  So  I  don't  want  to  marry  him. 
I  only  say  I  am  jealous ;  that  is  why  I  am 
going  to  Rome.  If  I  stayed  in  Nice  I 
could  not  work;  I  should  only  torment 
myself.  Since  knowing  him,  since  he  has 
paid  me  attention,  my  studies  have  suf- 
fered greatly,  especially  since  it  has 
seemed  to  me,  and  I  am  almost  sure  of 
it,  that  he  is  not  madly  in  love  with  me, 
I  have  not  been  able  to  read  a  book  or 
practise  an  hour  on  the  piano. 


71 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

Paris,  November  18th,  1875. 

Tired  enough,  finery  will  use  me  up,  me 
and  my  money.  But  that  is  why  I  came  to 
Paris,  and  we  must  do  things  conscien- 
tiously. I  need  not  say  that  I  am  not 
having  anything  made  in  colours,  every- 
thing is  white. 

I  feel  sad,  unnerved,  I  should  like  to 
smile  and  to  weep.  No,  really,  love  is  full 
of  interest. 

I  was  in  good  spirits  this  evening,  I 
talked  with  my  aunt,  and  complained  of 

M — —  A .    She  answered  that  M 

A was  a  girl  of  the  street,  a  worthless 

creature.  I  declared  that  she  deserved 
every  punishment  for  having,  without 
knowing  me,  from  mere  gossip,  formed  a 
bad  opinion  of  me  and  basely  slan- 
dered me.  Seizing  a  sheet  of  paper,  I 
wrote : 

"  Contemptible  old  creature,  your 
72 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

daughter  no  longer  loves  G ,  she  loves 

a    door-keeper    in    the    Theatre    Italien, 
who  is  a  very  handsome  fellow." 

I  sent  this  to  D ,  who  is  going  to 

mail  it  as  if  it  came  from  Nice. 

I  wanted  to  howl  this  morning,  but  it 
would  be  too  much  like  the  dogs — I  sigh 
and  I  laugh,  which  is  amusing. 

"  Good  Heavens,"  I  said  to  my  aunt 
yesterday,  "  do  you  suppose  I  could  be  in 
love?  What  I  want  is  wealth.  If  my 
heart  beats,  it  is  when  I  see  superb  car- 
riages, magnificent  horses;  if  I  am  agi- 
tated, it  is  with  the  longing  to  have  all 
these  things. 

"  No,  Madame,  even  if  I  loved  any  one, 
the  luxury  here  would  cure  me  very 
quickly.  You  don't  know  me,  or  you  pre- 
tend not  to  know  me." 

I  never  spoke  more  truthfully ;  my  aunt 
believed  me,  and  began  to  comfort  me ;  to 
73 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
calculate,  to  try  to  have  money  enough  to 
satisfy  my  wants. 

I  worship  people  when  they  show  good 
will.  But  the  line  of  railroad  that  leads 
me  to  the  Due  de  H has  made  a  tre- 
mendous curve!  Yesterday  he  suddenly 
presented  himself  to  my  mind,  so  hand- 
some that  I  am  again  completely  capti- 
vated. 

November  19th,  1875. 

I  have  spent  a  day  between  L and 

W .     It  is  full  of  interest,  for  dress 

forms  an  art,  a  talent,  a  science!  Finery 
to  this  degree  of  perfection  is  a  treat. 

Oh,  dear,  how  tiresome  life  is  when  one 
hasn't  an  income  of  at  least  300,000 
francs ! 

I  have  a  dozen  gowns  made,  a  few  hats, 
and  stop  there!  It's  absurd;  one  ought 
not  to  be  embarrassed  by  such  things.  Oh, 
74 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
money,  money!     I  must  have  it;  I'll  take 
any     husband,     if    he     will     give     it    to 
me. 

"  And  she  has  such  ideas  at  fifteen," 
said  my  aunt. 

"  Yes,  Aunt ;  not  at  fifteen ;  since  I  was 
thirteen — always." 

"  You  are  crazy,"  replied  my  aunt. 

"  I  think  so,  too,  but  what  is  to  be 
done?" 

"  If  you  don't  sleep  for  ten  nights 
wealth  will  not  arrive  any  the  more ;  come, 
go  to  bed;  it's  heartrending,  heartrend- 
ing." 

"  Madame,  I  must  be  married !  " 

"To  E ?     No,  indeed,  he  doesn't 

suit  me." 

I  have  written  a  lot  of  nonsense  this 
evening;    my    ideas    are   very   much   con- 
fused,   and    the    novel    especially.     And 
every  time   I  talked   seriously,   my   aunt 
75 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
was  alarmed.     Whenever  I  laughed,   she 
laughed  too. 

Saturday,  November  20th,  1875. 
For  three  hours  everything  in  the  house 
has  been  in  a  state  of  revolution,  but  all 
the  flames  were  extinguished  in  a  business 

interview  with  D .     With  pride  and 

confidence  I  assure  myself  that  I  am  the 
wise  head  of  the  household.  I  believe  that 
this  time  all  the  difficulties  are  smoothed, 
unless  the  matter  is  upset  when  I  am  no 
longer  here. 

Sunday,  November  21st,  1875. 
I  want  to  return  to  Nice,  the  longer  I 
stay  here,  the  longer  my  departure  for 
Rome  is  delayed.  I  spend  my  time  in  com- 
plaining; my  aunt  says  I  am  crazy.  I 
laugh,  and  so  does  she.  Life  is  full  of 
interest. 

76 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
Monday,  November  22nd,  1875. 

We  went  to  my  beautifiers,  and  also  to 

B 's.    To-morrow  we  shall  decide  upon 

the  carriages.    Then  I  went  to  see  B , 

with  whom  I  always  keep  up  a  corre- 
spondence. I  spent  an  hour  with  her;  we 
are  not  intimate  friends,  like  young  girls, 
we  are  mere  acquaintances. 

We  received  a  letter  from  Mamma,  with 
a  clipping  from  a  newspaper  in  which  the 
opening  of  the  opera  at  Nice  was  de- 
scribed, and  a  number  of  complimentary 
things  said  about  us.  So  people  are  in- 
terested in  me,  but  let  us  pass  on. 
Mamma  has  been  to  the  opera  again,  there 
was  some  mistake  about  the  box,  and  old 

A came  to  give  her  a  box  by  the  side 

of  his.     Everybody  came  to  see  her — she 

was  with  Dina  and  O .     Everybody 

enquired  for  us  except  G . 

While  reading  this  letter  I  committed 
77 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
a  thousand  extravagances,  to  the  amaze- 
ment  of   my    aunt.      Instantly   taking   a 
sheet    of   paper    I   wrote,    disguising   my 
hand,  a  letter  to  A D . 

"  Sir,  here  is  a  recent  and  true  story 
from  which  your  wonderful  talent  will  be 
able  to  make  a  drama  or  a  striking  ro- 
mance. 

"  A  rich  man,  forty-five  years  old,  mar- 
ried in  Spain  a  young  girl  of  sixteen  and 
took  her  to  his  chateau  in  France.  He 
was  a  widower,  and  had  a  son  eight  years 
old.  This  child,  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years, 
became  a  young  man  of  three  and  twenty. 
He  is  handsome,  impetuous,  spoiled,  but 
good  and  loyal.  His  stepmother  is 
scarcely  thirty-one,  and  beautiful.  They 
love  each  other. 

"  Pursued    by    remorse,    she    could    no 
longer  endure  the  presence  of  her  husband, 
who  knew  nothing.     She  planned  that  he 
78 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
should  surprise   her  with  some   one  else. 
The  husband  fired  at  her,  but  missed  his 
aim. 

"  She  fled  to  a  convent  where  the  hus- 
band is  going  to  pursue  her,  wants  to 
bring  a  lawsuit,  take  away  her  chil- 
dren— the  oldest  a  girl  of  fifteen.  The 
story  could  be  turned  to  excellent  ac- 
count. 

"  There  was  also  an  interview  between 
the  young  man  and  the  woman,  in  which 
he  sought  to  lead  her  into  a  reconciliation, 
showed  her  the  scandal  which  this  rupture 
would  bring  upon  her  daughters.  It  ended 
by  a  total  separation,  but  if  you  wish  you 
can  kill  off  whichever  you  like,  except  the 
son,  who  is  very  well. 

"  Answer  me  through  the  correspond- 
ence of  the  Figaro,  if  you  think  there  is 
anything  in  it,  addressing  the  initials  C. 
P.  L." 

79 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

"  That  is  wicked  and  absurd,"  said  my 
aunt. 

"  It  is  worse  than  wicked,  worse  than 
absurd,  it  is  cowardly,  but  what  do  you 
expect,  doesn't  everybody  know  the 
story?" 

"  Yes,  but  people  don't  talk  about  it, 
not  on  account  of  the  old  man,  who  is  a 
fool,  whom  everybody  recognises  as  such, 
but  for  the  sake  of  the  young  one,  who  is 
beloved.  It  is  only  since  the  son's  appear- 
ance in  society  that  his  father  has  been 
let  alone." 

"Why  does  he  look  so  fierce?  "  C 

asked  B one  day. 

"  Because  so  many  stones  have  been 
thrown  at  him." 

Wednesday,  November  24th,  1875. 
I  slept  for  twelve  hours  and,  while  try- 
ing on  at  L 's  I  felt  ill.     True,  they 

80 


I     I 

MARIE   BASHKIRTSEFF 
kept  me  two  hours  with  those  wretched 
gowns. 

We  ordered  from  B a  landau  with 

eight  springs,  dark-blue,  {i\e  seats,  every- 
thing the  very  best,  at  the  price  of  6,000 
francs;  also  a  park  phaeton  of  the  same 
colour,  the  phaeton  is  for  me.  I  already 
see  myself  in  that  little  carriage,  driving 
and  saying :  "  Knowst  thou  the  land " 

November  28th,  1875. 
I  am  in  Nice.     From  Paris  to  Lyon,  we 
were  in  the  midst  of  snow,  but  it  is  strange 
that  I  am  not  so  delighted  as  I  was  before 
on  reaching  my  villa. 

At  Toulon  we  met  C and  took  her 

with  us.     Mamma  and  the  S 's  were 

waiting  for  us  at  the  station.  The 
grown-ups  took  a  cab,  and  we  entered  our 
carriage.  | 

81 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL    OF 

We  went  to  the  opera.  I  wore  a  white 
barege  costume  made  a  little  like  a  night- 
gown— open  in  front,  as  if  by  chance,  and 
confined  at  the  waist  by  a  wide  sash  like  a 
child's.  We  laughed  heartily  in  spite  of 
the  general  dulness. 

I  returned  stupid,  indifferent.  It  is  the 
most  detestable  condition.  I  would  rather 
weep.  I  don't  love  him.  I  hate  him  with 
all  the  strength  with  which  I  might  have 
loved  him.  Nothing  in  the  world  effaces 
the  resentment  I  have  once  felt. 

Do  you  remember  all  that  is  wounding 
and  terrible  expressed  in  the  one  word 
"scorn"? 

/  understand,  I  who  remember  the  slap 
my  brother  gave  me  more  than  twelve 
years  ago,  at  whose  recollection  I  am  still 
as  furious  as  if  I  had  received  it  now;  I 
who  have  kept  a  sort  of  hatred  of  my 
brother  on  account  of  that  childish  af- 
82 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
front.  It  was  my  only  blow,  but  to  make 
up  for  it,  I  have  given  a  goodly  number 
and  to  everybody.  There  was  so  much 
wickedness  in  my  eyes  that,  when  I  looked 
in  the  glass,  I  was  frightened  by  it. 
Everything  can  be  pardoned  except  scorn. 
I  would  forgive  a  cruelty,  a  fit  of  passion, 
insults  uttered  in  a  moment  of  anger,  even 
an  infidelity,  when  people  return  and  still 
love,  but  scorn ! 

Monday,  November  29th,  1875. 

We  went  out  at  three  o'clock.  I  who 
came  to  Nice  in  search  of  fine  weather  en- 
countered Parisian  cold.  I  wore  an  otter 
skin  hat,  made  in  the  style  of  a  baby  hood, 
and  my  big  sable  pelisse  covered  with  white 
cloth.  The  costume  created  a  sensation, 
and  my  face  did  not  look  ugly,  in  spite 
of  my  fatigue. 

I  am  so  happy  to  be  at  home  in  my 
83 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
own  house.  I  am  sleeping  in  my  big 
dressing  room.  My  chamber  will  be  ready 
in  a  month;  I  shall  find  it  finished  on  my 
return  from  Rome.  I  am  thinking  only  of 
that,  of  having  my  carriage,  of  spending 
a  month  in  Nice,  of  continuing  the  studies 
I  shall  have  begun  in  Rome,  of  following 
my  professor's  directions,  and  then  of  go- 
ing to  Russia.  So  many  things  have  suf- 
fered, so  much  money  has  been  lost  be- 
cause we  failed  to  take  our  journey. 
There  was  a  crowd  to  hear  the  band  play. 

General  B and  V were  near  us. 

A was  near  the  carriage. 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  long  in  Nice  ?  " 

"  A  week." 

"  Are  you  going  away  again  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  replied' my  aunt. 

"And  where?" 

"To  Rome." 

"  Yes,  to  Rome,"  I  added. 
84 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

"  But  you  do  nothing  but  travel,  Made- 
moiselle, you  are  a  regular  whirler." 

"  What  a  ridiculous  man !  " 

We  were  walking,  I,  my  aunt,  and  the 
General,  who  made  me  laugh  by  calling 
my  attention  to  the  different  ways  in  which 
people  looked  at  me,  the  men  at  my  face, 
the  women  at  my  gown. 

From  this  time  I  will  no  longer  trouble 
myself  about  any  one.  I  will  become 
Galatea,  let  people  love  me,  if  they 
like! 

I  wonder  why  I  am  unhappy.  No!  I 
have  no  brains.  Do  people  ask  such  things 
when  they  have?  We  are  happy  or  we 
are  unhappy,  nothing  does  any  good ; 
neither  prayer,  nor  tears,  nor  faith.  I  am 
a  living  proof,  I  lack  everything. 

When  shall  I  go  to  Rome?  I  want  to 
study,  I  am  losing  my  time  for  nothing. 
If  one  does  nothing,  one  ought  to  go  into 
85 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
society ;  I  am  losing  my  time  and  I  am 
bored. 

0,  misery  of  miseries !  I  will  go 
all  the  same  to  pray  to  God,  who 
knows  ? 

While  there  is  life,  there  is  hope. 

Saturday,  December  4th,  1875. 
I  have  told  Mamma  that  I  was  going  to 
study  singing,  and  I  shall  do  it,  if  it  is 
God's  pleasure  to  preserve  my  voice ;  it  is 
the  only  way  of  gaining  the  fame  for  which 
I  thirst,  for  which  I  would  give  ten  years 
of  my  life  without  hesitation.  I  need  re- 
nown, glory,  and  I  will  have  them.  Deo 
juvante.  It  has  never  happened  that  peo- 
ple wanted  it,  and  did  not  have  it !  I  have 
the  most  comprehensive  ideas  in  the  world. 
A  fig  for  all  that !  Do  I  want  it  ?  A  hun- 
dred times,  no,  a  thousand  times  no!  I 
was  born  to  be  a  remarkable  woman,  it 
86 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

matters  little  in  what  way  or  how.  All 
my  tendencies  are  toward  the  great  things 
of  this  world.  I  shall  be  famous,  I  shall 
be  great,  or  I  shall  diel 

It  is  impossible  that  God  should  have 

given  me  this  gloria  cupidatis,  like  S , 

for  nothing,  without  an  object;  my  time 
will  come.  I  am  happy  when  I  think  as 
I  do  to-day.    Oh,  my  voice ! 

We  went  to  the  opera  house  to  get  a 
box  for  this  evening.  They  gave  the 
"  Barber,"  my  favourite  little  opera.  I 
aspire  to  something  unheard  of,  fabulous ; 
I  want  to  be  famous,  I  will  sing.  It  is 
queer,  the  whole  Italian  company  saluted 
me.  We  were  in  No.  2.  I  wore  my  Em- 
pire gown,  in  which  I  like  myself  best. 
Hair  dressed  like  an  Olympian  goddess, 
falling  lower  than  the  belt,  and  curled  nat- 
urally at  the  ends.  The  General,  always 
charming,  was  with  us. 
87 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL    OF 

"  Come,"  I  said,  "  do  you  know  what  I 
am  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Made- 
moiselle? " 

"  I  am  going  to  make  a  mirror." 

"  How?  " 

"  Look." 

I  took  the  attitude  of  old  A ,  who 

sat  opposite.  He  put  his  hand  on  the 
balustrade ;  I  did  the  same.  He  leaned 
on  his  hand ;  I  leaned  on  mine.  He  played 
with  his  chain;  I  played  with  my  ribbon. 
He  pulled  his  ear;  I  pulled  mine. 

The  General  laughed,  Dina  laughed, 
everybody  laughed. 

Every  time  he  changed  his  position  I 
imitated  him  like  the  most  faithful  mir- 
ror. 

It  was  the  last  act,  the  house  was  half 
empty,  and  I  continued  my  game  in  free- 
dom till  the  last  moment.  I  went  out 
88 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

fairly  jumping  for  joy  and  returned  home 
gay  and  talkative. 

To-night  "  Mignon  "  was  given  at  the 
theatre. 

I  listened  with  pleasure  and  emotion. 
I  forgot  everything,  toilette  and  audience, 
and,  with  my  head  resting  against  the 
pillar,  I  devoured  the  charming  melodies. 
If  I  had  "  Mignon  "  given  in  my  room  I 
should  enjoy  it  just  as  much,  even  more. 
With  an  interesting  audience  one  hears 
nothing.  I  have  seen  this  opera  so  many 
times !     And  I  am  always  moved. 

One  could  not  imagine  my  impatience 
to  go  to  Rome  and  resume  my  work.  To 
study,  to  study,  that  is  my  desire!  I 
grow  joyous  at  the  sight  of  my  dear  books, 
my  adored  classics,  my  beloved  Plutarch. 

I  shall  carry  with  me  a  few  volumes  to 
read,  for  I  suppose  we  shall  not  see  many 
people ;  we  know  no  one  there. 
89 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
Saturday,  December  11th,  1875. 

The  weather  is  magnificent.  A  tre- 
mendous crowd  when  we  go  out.  We 
move  at  a  walk,  between  hedges  formed  of 
the  young  men  of  Nice.  They  all  take 
off  their  hats,  and  it  seems  as  if  I  were 
the  daughter  of  a  queen  whom  they  salute 
as  she  passes. 

We  met  the  Marvel,  who  alighted  from 
his  carriage  and  raised  his  hat  to  us  twice. 
I  was   amused,   I   laughed,   I   went   with 

O .     Why  did  we  laugh  so  much?     I 

shall  remember  later. 

Sunday,  December  19th,  1875. 
To-morrow  there  is  to  be  a  concert  at 
the  Cercle  de  la  Mediterranee  for  the 
benefit  of  the  free  Ecole  des  beaux-arts,  I 
went  to  the  club  to  get  tickets.  Entering 
through  the  big  door  I  was  ushered 
through  well-heated,  well-lighted  corridors 
90 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
to  the  room  of  the  secretary,  who  gave  me 
the  little  book  containing  the  by-laws  and 
the    names    of    the    members.     Men    are 
lucky ! 

The  club  made  a  charming  impression 
upon  me.  There  is  a  fraternity  of  spirit, 
a  homelike  air,  which  reminds  one  of  the 
convent.  I  am  no  longer  surprised  that 
these  men  avoid  their  badly  lighted,  poorly 
heated  homes,  with  household  cares  neg- 
lected, ill-disciplined  servants,  a  wife  in 
a  wrapper  and  a  bad  humour,  to  go  to 
a  place  where  everything  is  nice,  comforta- 
ble, elegant  (in  a  land  where  the  orange 
tree  blossoms,  where  the  breeze  is  softer 
and  the  bird  swifter  of  wing). 

O  women,  don't  pity  yourselves,  but  at-  ( 
tend  to  your  homes. 

Long  instructions   might  be  given.      I 
am   content   to   say :   "  Make   your   house 
resemble  a  club  as  much  as  possible  and 
91 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
treat  your  husbands  as  these  ladies,  L- 


and  C ,  treat  them,  and  you  will  be 

happy  and  your  husbands  too." 

Now  I  am  calm  and  I  think.  O  misery 
of  miseries !  O  despair !  What  I  have 
written  expresses  the  best  portion  of  what 
I  feel.  O  God,  have  pity  on  me.  Good 
people,  do  not  jeer  at  me.  Perhaps  I 
give  cause  for  amusement,  but  I  am  to 
be  pitied.  With  my  temperament,  my 
ideas,  I  shall  never  explain  what  I  feel. 
I  shall  never  give  an  idea  of  my  unhappi- 
ness,  it  is  because  while  dying  of  shame, 
of  scorn,  of  rage,  I  have  the  courage  to 
jest.  I  really  do  have  good  health  and 
a  good  disposition.  Provided  that  what 
I  have  just  said  doesn't  bring  me  mis- 
fortune ! 

I  have  a  great  many  other  things  to 
say,  but  I  am  tired.  I  am  going  to  write 
in  big  letters,  "  I  am  unhappy,"  and  in 
92 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
letters  still  larger,  "  O  God,  aid  me,  have 
pity  on  me !  " 

These  big  letters  represent  an  hour  and 
a  half  of  rage,  tears,  irritated  self  love, 
and  two  hours  of  prayer! 

I  have  exhausted  all  words,  I  have  ex- 
hausted my  energy,  I  no  longer  have  pa- 
tience or  strength,  yet  I  still  have  one 
resource. 

My  voice.  To  preserve  it  I  must  take 
care  of  my  health.  Another  week  like  this 
one,  and  good-bye  to  singing! 

No,  I  will  be  sensible,  I  will  pray  to 
God.  I  will  go  to  Rome.  I  am  desperate, 
I  will  implore  the  Pope  to  pray  for  me. 
In  my  madness,  I  hope  for  that. 

To-morrow  I  will  talk  with  Mamma 
about  my  idea ;  aid  me,  my  God. 


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THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
Thursday,  December  23d,  1875. 
I  am  sorrowful  and  discouraged.  My 
departure  is  an  exile  to  me.  I  want  to 
stay  in  Nice,  and  it  is  impossible.  We 
always  insist  upon  the  impossible.  The 
simplest  thing,  by  resisting,  gains  in  value. 

Friday,  December  24th,  1875. 

B has  been  to  our  house.    By  a  few 

words  in  the  conversation  he  awoke  in  me 
so  much  love  for  Nice,  so  much  regret 
at  leaving,  that  I  became  unhappy  and 
went  to  my  room  to  sing — with  such  ear- 
nestness, such  warmth,  that  I  am  still 
weeping  from  it — that  eternal  air,  and 
these  delightful  words : 

"  Alas  !    Would  it  were  possible  I  might 

return, 
Unto   that  vanished  land  whence   I   was 

torn, 

94 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
There,  there  alone  to  live  my  heart  doth 

yearn, 
To  live,  to  love,  to  die." 

How  I  pity  those  who  are  not  like  me! 
They  do  not  understand  how  much  truth 
there  is  in  this  familiar  fragment  that  is 
sung  in  every  drawing-room.  Yes,  there 
alone  to  live  my  heart  doth  yearn.  Yes, 
at  Nice,  in  my  beloved  villa.  People  may 
go  through  the  world.  They  will  find 
sublime  landscapes,  impressive  mountains, 
frightful  gulfs,  wild  beauties  of  nature, 
picturesque  towns,  great  cities ;  but,  on 
returning  to  Nice  one  would  say  that  else- 
where it  was  beautiful,  magnificent!  but 
here  it  is  pleasant,  attractive,  congenial; 
here  one  wants  to  stay;  here  one  is  alone 
and  surrounded,  hidden  and  in  sight,  as 
one  'desires.  Nowhere  else  does  one 
breathe  as  freely,  as  joyously.  Nowhere 
95 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
else  is  there  this  extraordinary  blending  of 
the  real  and  the  artificial,  the  simple  and 
the  exquisite!  Finally,  what  shall  I  say? 
Nice  is  my  city.  I  am  going,  but  I  shall 
return. 

Go,  but  still  regret  it, 
Regret  has  its  charms, 

as  one  of  the  pleasant  simpletons  called 
poets  has  said. 

To-morrow  will  be  Christmas,  and  I  am 
planning  a  joke  with  C .  We  are  go- 
ing to  buy  a  pair  of  huge  slippers,  a 
jockey,  reins  for  driving  (suitable  for  a 
child),  and  two  little  sheep.  We  will  put 
these  things  into  the  slippers,  make  a 
package,  and  under  the  cord  slip  a  letter 
written  in  this  form: 

"  Santa  Claus  has  found  little  E 

very  good,  and  hopes  he  will  continue  to 
96 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

be.     The  toys  are  for  little  E ,  the 

slippers  for  little  '  papa.'  "  And  on  the 
envelope  one  may  guess  what.  But  we 
shall  not  send  it,  Dina  is  going  to  dis- 
guise herself  as  a  boy  and,  with  her  blue 
spectacles  and  pale  complexion,  she  ap- 
pears like  a  professor  of  mathematics. 
C and  I  will  also  make  ourselves  un- 
recognisable and,  at  eight  o'clock,  go  to 
the  club,  and  tell  the  coachman  to  give 
the    package    to    the    janitor    from    M. 

E .     We  laughed  as  we  used  to  do. 

What  amuses  me  is  to  see  a  serious  woman 
play  pranks  with  me. 

This   morning  we  had   a   call   from   a 

Sister  T .    She  left  two  visiting  cards. 

The  Sisters  of  the  Good  Shepherd.  I  took 
one,  added  P.  P.  C.  and,  with  an  address 
written  on  it,  sent  it  to  Tour. 


97 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
Saturday,  December  25th,  1875. 

Ah!  son  felica!    Ah!  son  rapita! 

Find  me  a  language  which  expresses 
thought  with  so  much  enthusiasm.  So  I 
use  it  to  define  my  condition.  It  is  heav- 
enly weather,  everybody  is  out  of  doors, 
in  spite  of  my  vigil  yesterday,  I  look 
pretty. 

I  go  to  walk  enchanted,  happy,  I  sing 
"  Mignon  "  softly  and  everything  seems 
beautiful  to  me.  Everybody  looks  at  me 
so  pleasantly,  those  whom  I  know  salute 
me.  I  should  like  to  hug  them  all.  Oh, 
how  comfortable  we  are  in  Nice,  I  should 
not  want  to  go  away. 

I  have  a  longing  for  amusement,  I 
should  like  to  invite  everybody  to  the 
house,  to  give  a  dinner,  a  ball,  a  supper, 
a  reception,  to  have  some  sort  of  diabolical 
carnival — I  should  like  to  have  everybody, 
98 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
everybody.    I  am  not  ill-natured  at  heart, 
I  am  only  a  little  crazy. 

Ah!  son  felica!    Ah!  son  rapita 
Dio  Virgina  Sanctis sima. 

We  went  to  the  opera,  Mamma  and  I  in 
the  3d  box  in  the  first  row,  my  aunt  and 
Dina    in    the    2nd    next    to    the    Marvel. 

T came  in,  General  B was  with 

us.  The  door  opened  and  the  Marvel  ap- 
peared. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  you  celebrated  Christ- 
mas." 

"Ah!  yes,  just  think,  I  received  a  pair 
of  slippers." 

"  Slippers !  " 

"  Yes,  and  mine  were  so  worn  out  that 

they    came    very    opportunely,    and    an 

anonymous  letter  which  was  not  signed — 

that   is  very  natural,   anonymous   letters 

99 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
are  never  signed.     And  the  same  day  I 
received  a  letter,  a  visiting  card:  The  Sis- 
ters of  the  Good  Shepherd" 

Everybody  laughed. 

"  What  does  P.  P.  C.  mean?  "  I  asked. 

"  Pays  Parting  Calls." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that's  true." 

"  But  for  some  time  I  have  received  a 
great  many  things,  the  other  day  a  bit  of 
broken  rock,  pierced  by  an  arrow.  All  the 
people  in  the  box  shouted  with  laughter, 
and  so  did  I.  But  I  saw  plainly  that  he 
was  furiously  angry  and  suspected  every- 
thing. It  is  terrible  that  only  the  most  fool- 
ish little  pranks  should  be  remembered." 

"  You  are  very  fortunate,  I  received 
nothing  at  all." 

"  Ah !  If  you  wish,  I'll  send  you  some 
slippers." 

"  But  if  they  are  so  big,  what  should  I 
do  with  them  ?  " 

100 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSSFF 
"  Never    mind,    I'll    send    you    all    the 
things." 

"  That  is  kind,   I   am  quite  overpow- 
ered." 


101 


BOOK  LI 

From  Sunday,  December  %6th,  to  Sunday, 
January  9th,  1876;  Nice,  Promenade 
des  Anglais,  55  bis,  in  my  villa, — From 
Monday,  January  3d,  in  Rome,  Hotel 
de  Londres,  Piazza  di  Spagna. 

Sunday,  December  26th,  1875. 
We     went     to     hear     the     band.      G. 

M came   to  talk  to   us   and,   among 

other  compliments,  said  to  me :  "  M , 

I  would  like  to  give  you  some  of  my  ex- 
perience, I  love  you  so  much !  No,  really, 
Madame," — addressing  my  mother — "  she 
has  such  an  extraordinary  mind,  so  devel- 
oped, so  broadened.  But  it  lacks  experi- 
ence.    M ,  my  child,  I  will  give  you 

some  advice." 

"  Give  it,  Monsieur,  give  it." 
"  Well,  never  love  seriously,  for  there 
102 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
is  not  in  the  whole  world  a  man  worthy 
of  your  love." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that.  I  know  that 
men  are  not  equal  to  women.  You 
are  not  equal  to  your  wife,  I  can  tell 
you." 


"You  are  right,  M ." 

He  is  right.  I  shall  never  love  wholly. 
I  shall  worship,  I  shall  rave,  I  shall  commit 
follies  and  even,  if  opportunity  offers,  have 
a  romance.  But  I  shall  not  love,  for  can- 
didly, in  my  inmost  heart,  I  am  convinced 
of  the  villainy  of  men.  Not  only  that,  I 
do  not  find  any  one  worthy  of  my  love, 
either  morally  or  physically.    It  is  useless 

to  say  and  think  all  I  want.     A will 

never  be  anything  but  a  good-looking  mem- 
ber of  the  fashionable  society  of  Nice, — 
a  gay  liver,  almost  a  fop.  Oh,  no ;  every 
man  has  some  defect  that  prevents  loving 
him  entirely.  One  is  stupid,  another  awk- 
103 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
ward,  another  ugly,  another — in  short,  I 
seek  physical  and  moral  perfection. 

Now  that  it  is  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, that  I  am  shut  up  in  my  room, 
wrapped  in  my  long  white  dressing-gown, 
my  feet  bare  and  my  hair  down,  like  a 
virgin  martyr,  I  can  give  myself  up  to  a 
throng  of  bitter  reflections.  I  shall  go, 
carrying  in  my  heart  all  the  sorrowful  and 
wicked  things  that  can  be  contained  there. 

December  28th,  1875. 
I  don't  want  public  pity,  but  I  should 
like  to  have  one  creature  to  understand 
me,  compassionate  me,  weep  with  me  sin- 
cerely, knowing  why  she  was  weeping,  see- 
ing with  me  into  the  farthest  corner  of 
my  heart.  What  is  there  more  dastardly, 
more  ugly,  viler  than  mankind? 


104 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
Wednesday,  December  29th,  1875. 

We  went  to  see  Mme.  du  M .     She 

gave  me  seven  letters  of  introduction  for 
Rome.  May  God  grant  that  they  will  be 
of  the  service  this  excellent  woman  de- 
sires, she  loves  me  so  much !  No  doubt 
everybody  has  trouble.  One  is  ill,  another 
is  in  love,  another  wants  money,  another 
is  bored.  You  will  say,  perhaps,  "  Poor 
little  idler,  she  thinks  she  is  the  only  per- 
son who  is  unhappy,  while  she  is  happier 
than  most  people."  But  my  sorrow  is  the 
most  hateful  of  all. 

We  lose  a  beloved  one.  We  mourn  for 
a  year,  two  years,  and  remain  sorrowful 
all  our  lives.  The  greatest  grief  loses  its 
force  with  time,  but  an  incessant,  eternal 
torment !   .    .    . 

I  have  just  read  Mme.  du  M 's  let- 
ters.   No  one  could  be  kinder,  no  one  could 
be  more  charming.     And,  just  think,  the 
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THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
greater  part  of  the  time  those  who  would 
like  to  do  things  cannot.  It  is  six  years 
since  she  left  Rome  and  I  doubt  whether 
her  acquaintances  remember  her ;  and  then, 
her  influence  was  never  great. 

"  Have    you    suffered,    wept,    and    lan- 
guished, 
Thinking  hope  was  all  in  vain, 
Soul    in    mourning,     torn    heart     an- 
guished ? 
Then  you  understand  my  pain." 

Sappho  was  given  to-night.  I  wore  a 
sort  of  Neapolitan  shirt  of  blue  crepe  de 
Chine  and  old  lace,  with  a  white  front.  It 
can't  be  described — it  was  as  original  and 
charming  as  possible,  with  a  white  skirt 
and  an  alms-bag  of  white  satin.  We  ar- 
rived at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  and  were 

near  P and  R ,  and  I  heard  the 

106 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
voice  of  the  Marvel.  Nothing  can  be  said 
against  her  face,  it  is  blooming;  whether 
real  or  artificial  is  of  little  consequence. 
She  has  hair — oh,  I  don't  know.  At  Spa, 
she  was  fairer  than  I;  here,  she  is  darker 

"  d'un  serpent,  jaune  et  sifflant" 

Now  the  American  has  gone  home,  and 
is  doubtless  in  a  sleep  which  will  preserve 
her  twenty-seven-year-old  complexion, 
while  I  am  awake.  Just  now  I  fell  on  my 
knees  sobbing,  beseeching  God,  with  my 
arms  outstretched,  my  eyes  fixed  on  space 
before  me,  exactly  as  if  God  was  there  in 
my  room.  I  believe  I  am  uttering  insolent 
things  to  God. 

The  S 's  came,  and  after  dinner  we 

began  to  tell  fortunes  and  laughed  almost 

as  much  as  we   did  before,   that  is,  the 

others   did,  but  I   could  not.     Then  we 

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THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
poured  melted  wax  into  cold  water  (it  is 
the  shadow  that  is  looked  at).  I  had  in 
succession  a  lion  couchant  with  one  of  his 
front  paws  extended,  holding  a  rose ;  isn't 
it  odd?  Then  a  great  heap  of  something 
surmounted  by  a  garland  held  by  Cupids. 

As  for  M ,  her  wax  figure  cast  a 

horrible  shadow.  A  woman  lying  as  if 
dead  with  her  hands  crossed  on  her  breast. 
O and  Dina  had  insignificant  shad- 
ows. And,  at  fifteen  minutes  before  mid- 
night, four  mirrors  were  brought,  two  for 
Dina  and  two  for  me,  and  we  took  up  the 
great  fortune  telling. 

I  looked  with  all  my  eyes,  without  stir- 
ring, almost  without  breathing.  In  the 
proper  costume  of  night-gown  and  un- 
bound hair.  But  everything  was  very 
vague;  it  quivered,  danced,  formed,  and 
reformed  every  instant. 


108 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
Saturday,  January  1st,  1876. 

Here  is  the  new  year.  Greeting  and 
mercy.  Well,  the  first  day  of  1876  was 
not  so  bad  as  I  expected.  They  say  the 
whole  year  is  spent  very  much  like  the 
first  day,  and  it  is  true.  I  spent  the  first 
of  last  January  in  the  cars,  and  I  have 
really  travelled  a  great  deal. 

To-morrow,  yes,  to-morrow  I  shall  be 
glad  to  go.  I  am  perfectly  happy,  for 
I  have  made  a  plan — a  plan  that  will  fail 
like  the  others,  but  which  amuses  me  in 
the  meanwhile.  If  it  were  not  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  I  would  write  a  whole  story 
of  the  sale  of  a  soul.  The  brutes — I  have 
not  wept,  I  have  not  felt  sad  once.  A 
very  pleasant  day  to  commence  the  year. 
I  shall  go  and  think  only  of  returning. 
No  doubt  I  shall  change  my  mind  in  Rome. 
All  the  same,  this  is  where  I  should  like  to 
live. 

109 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

I  had  already  closed  my  book,  but  I 

find  a  lot  of  things  to  say.     I  have  looked 

at  the  great  caricature,  there  are  five  of 

us.      I   have    thought    of   everything;    of 

Mme.    B ,    of    the    English,    of    the 

people    of    Nice,    of    S ,    of    "  Mig- 

non."  In  a  word,  a  quantity  of  things. 
I  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  and  lo!  I 
stop. 

It  is  tiresome  to  go,  but  it  is  horrible 

to  stay.    P has  dramatic  emotions  so 

genuine  that  she  delights  and  thrills  me. 
Come,  what  was  I  going  to  write?  That 
I  am  calm  and  agitated,  sorrowful  and 
joyous,  jealous  and  indifferent.  It  seems 
to  me  that  fastidious  society  is  possible 
to  have  and,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  im- 
possible. 

"  /  wish  to  stay  and  I  wish  to  go, 
How  it  will  end  I  do  not  know," 
110 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
I  cannot  lie  down.    I  am  sorrowful,  ex- 
cited.     Oh,   calm  yourself,   for   Heaven's 
sake.     It  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  M. 

A ,  but  simply  that  I  am  going.     The 

uncertainty,  the  vagueness,  leaving  the 
known  for  the  unknown. 

Sunday,  January  2nd,  1876. 

"  I  shall  go  Sunday  at  three  o'clock," 
I  said  or  rather  shrieked,  and  Sunday  at 
one  o'clock  everything  was  topsy-turvy. 
The  trunks  were  still  empty,  and  the  floor 
was  covered  with  gowns  and  finery.  For 
my  part,  I  put  on  a  grey  dress  and  waited 

quietly.     C and  Dina  worked,  and  so 

well  that  everything  was  ready  for  the 
hour  of  departure. 

At  half  past  two,  C and  I  got  into 

a  little  cab  and  went  to  hear  the  band,  and 

I  listened  once  more  to  the  municipal  music 

of  Nice.     "  Come,"  I  said   to   Collignon, 

111 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

"  if  this  piece  is  gay,  our  journey  will  be, 
too.  I  am  superstitious."  And  the  piece 
was  very  lively.    So  much  the  better ! 

I  saw  G ,  who  bid  me  good-bye  once 

more.  I  haven't  seen  the  Marvel,  but  that 
doesn't  matter. 

We  got  into  the  landau  again,  and  went 
to  the  station.  Our  friends  came  there, 
one  after  another.  I  skipped  about,  I 
laughed,  I  chattered  like  a  bird.  How 
kind  they  are,  and  how  hard  it  is  to  leave 
them. 

"  You   feign  this  gaiety,"  said  B 

to  me,  "  but  in  your  heart  you  are  weeping, 
I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Ah !  you  think  so  ?    No ! 

"  When  to  Nice  you  bid  good-bye, 
Unfeigned  joy  is  in  your  eye. 
Easy  'tis  from  Nice  to  part, 
For  she  never  wins  your  heart." 
112 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

"Bravo!    Bravo!" 

The  quatrain  was  made  one  evening 
when  we  were  capping  verses  with  G — ■ — . 

"  Give  me  some  cigarettes,"  I  said  softly 
to  my  aunt. 

"  Very  well,  later." 

I  thought  she  had  forgotten,  but  at 
Monaco  she  wrapped  a  number  in  paper 
and  gave  them  to  me.  She,  who  cries  out 
when  I  ask  her  for  them  at  home.  At 
Monaco  we  parted,  and  those  horrid  ciga- 
rettes made  me  cry.  I  was  sorry  for  the 
poor  old  grandfather,  my  aunt,  every- 
body. I  am  vexed  to  have  to  go  with 
Mamma.  I  was  with  her  at  Spa  and,  be- 
sides, I  am  used  to  my  aunt. 

Oh!  torture!  Imagine  the  tediousness 
of  a  journey  in  Italy.  Mamma  and  Dina 
do  not  know  Italian.  I  refused  to  use  my 
tongue;  I  can  scarcely  use  my  limbs.  By 
dint  of  complaining  because  I  was  not  with 
113 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
my  aunt,  and  saying :  "  Who  asked  you 
to  come  with  us?  I  ought  to  go  with  my 
aunt.  Why  do  you  come  with  me?  "  I 
obtained  a  passive  obedience  and  an  alac- 
rity impossible  to  imagine. 

Night  found  us  in  a  car.  I  complained, 
wept  softly,  and  said  the  most  provoking 
things  to  my  mother,  like  the  brute  I  am. 

At  last,  toward  three  o'clock,  Monday, 
January  3d,  ruins,  columns,  aqueducts  be- 
gan to  appear  on  the  dreary  plain  called 
the  Roman  Campagna,  and  we  entered  the 
station  of  Rome.  I  saw  nothing,  I  heard 
nothing.  I  was  utterly  limp  after  these 
twenty-four  hours  without  sleep. 

We  were  taken  to  the  Hotel  de  Londres, 
Piazza  di  Spagna,  and  we  occupied  an 
apartment  on  the  ground  floor,  with  a 
yellow  drawing-room  that  was  very  fresh 
and  neat.  I  was  tired  and  depressed,  in 
the  condition  in  which  I  needed  some  one 
114 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

to  sustain  me.  And  Mamma  was  crying. 
Oh,  dear ! 

We  must  set  to  work  very,  very  quickly 
to  look  about  us.  There  is  nothing  I  hate 
like  changing. 

New  streets,  strange  faces,  and  no  Medi- 
terranean. Only  the  miserable  Tiber.  I 
am  utterly  wretched  when  I  am  in  a  new 
city.  I  shut  myself  up  in  my  room  to  col- 
lect my  scattered  wits  a  little. 

Tuesday,  January  4th,  1876. 

Yesterday  Mamma  wrote  to  B ,  the 

brother  of  the  empress's  physician,  and 
to-day  he  came  to  our  house.  He  devotes 
himself  to  painting.  After  this  visit,  we 
went  out.  Oh!  the  ugly  city,  the  impure 
air!  What  a  deplorable  mixture  of  an- 
cient magnificence  and  modern  filth ! 

We  went  through  the  Corso,  the  Via 
Gregoriana,  the  Forum  of  Hadrian,  the 
115 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

Forum  of  Rome,  we  saw  the  gates  of  Sep- 
timus Severus,  and  Constantine,  the  Via 
Pia,  the  Coliseum,  but  everything  is  still 
vague,  I  don't  recognise  myself.  The  drive 
on  the  Pincio  is  charming,  the  band  was 
playing,  but  there  were  not  many  people 
when  we  were  there.  Statues,  statues 
everywhere.  What  would  Rome  be  with- 
out statues?  From  the  summit  of  the 
Pincio  we  looked  at  the  dome  of  St.  Peter 
and  also  the  whole  city.  I  am  glad  to 
find  it  is  not  over  large,  it  will  be  easier 
to  know. 

On  the  drive  we  were  amused  to  meet 

the  S 's,  A ,  and  P of  Rome. 

The  sun  did  not  appear,  and  the  weather 
was  dull  and  dreary. 

On  arriving  in  Rome,  I  had  no  artistic 

feeling.     It  is  Rome  that  opened  my  mind, 

so  I  have  worshipped  her  since.     I  don't 

want  to  visit  anything  before  we  are  set- 

116 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
tied.    The  evening  was  spent  in  consulting 
the  cards  and  in  writing  letters. 

This  stay  in  Rome  seems  an  exile  and 
it  is  with  unequalled  joy  that  I  think  of 
returning  to  Nice.  The  cards  predict 
much  good,  but  can  the  cards  be  be- 
lieved ? 

Ah!  if  I  could  marry  some  prince! 
Then  I  would  return  to  Nice  and  make 
a  triumphal  entry.  But  no,  it  is  indicated 
that  nothing  will  succeed  for  me ;  so  I  shall 
make  no  more  plans  or,  if  I  do,  it  will  be 
with  the  sorrowful  conviction  of  their  use- 
lessness.  Each  time  I  have  been  disap- 
pointed. 

Wednesday,  January  5th,  1876. 
This  is  what  I  wrote  to  the  General: 

"  I  am  in  Rome,  and  it  is  very  wonderful 
(ah!  it   is  very  wonderful,   very   marvel- 
117 


THE  NEW  JOURNAL  OF 
lous).  It  is  cold  as  Russia,  the  water 
freezes  in  the  fountains,  but  the  cold  would 
be  nothing  if  it  was  only  the  cold.  Since 
morning  we  have  been  in  search  of  an 
apartment,  and  we  have  seen  only  one.  I 
did  not  have  courage  to  go  up  when  they 
pointed  out  a  black,  yawning  hole,  dirty 
and  frightful.  I  have  looked  in  vain  for 
a  house  with  any  resemblance  to  the 
French  houses.  I  find  only  ruins  or 
cracked  columns.  No  doubt  it  is  very 
beautiful,  but  agree  with  me  that  a  good, 
comfortable  apartment  is  infinitely  more 
pleasant,  though  less  artistic. 

I  believe  we  shall  end  by  lodging  in  the 
baths  of  Caracalla  or  in  the  Coliseum. 
The  foreigners  will  take  me  for  the 
ghost  of  a  Christian  martyr,  devoured  by 
some  fierce  tiger  in  the  presence  of  some 
carnivorous  emperor.  As  to  the  furni- 
ture, we  will  be  content  with  fragments  of 
118 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
statues  or  a  few  bones,  the  sublime  re- 
mains of  a  henceforth  impossible  past. 
After  my  installation  in  the  Coliseum,  or 
in  the  Forum,  I  will  give  you  the  most 
minute  details  concerning  the  Eternal 
City.  Meanwhile,  I  shall  expect  a  letter 
from  you,  my  dear  General,  which  will  be, 
I  know,  kind  and  charming.  Now  good- 
bye until  we  meet  again. 

Marie  Bashkirtseff." 

It  is  the  truth,  there  is  not  a  habitable 
apartment;  where  are  we?  Can  this  hor- 
rible city  be  called  a  capital?  We  are  not 
in  Europe !  Not  a  house  fit  to  rent.  I  am 
discouraged,  tired,  but  I  will  not  stir  be- 
fore May. 

O  Rome!     I  think  that  we  shall  take  a 

larger  apartment  in  the  hotel,  and  stay 

there.    One  can  breathe  only  in  the  Piazza 

di  Spagna.     It  is  impossible  that  this  is 

119 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
Rome!     What  a  mixture  of  beautiful  an- 
tiquities and  modern  trash! 

Thursday,  January  6th,  1876. 

B has  been  here  again  and  brought 

the  addresses  of  some  professors.  Then 
we  took  a  carriage,  and  Mamma  went  to 
the  Russian  priest's,  the  archimandrite 
Alexander.  Being  an  archimandrite,  he 
is  married,  for  in  our  country  priests  and 
deacons  can  be  married  once.  Mamma 
says  that  he  is  charming.  Our  embassy 
makes  no  show,  and  has  not  even  any  reg- 
ular reception  day. 

This  society  makes  me  love  Rome.  I 
scarcely  regret  Nice,  the  ungrateful, 
wicked  city. 

Sad  and  irresolute  yesterday,  I  am  gay 
and  confident  to-day.     I  have  written  to 

my  aunt  to  send  me  F ,  the  ugly  little 

negro  will  be  very  nice  to  have  here. 
120 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
I  have  had  a  good  dinner,  and  spent  the 
evening  in  reading  the  history  of  Charles 
the  Bold. 

I  thought,  "  in  my  ingenuous  candour," 
that  there  was  no  society  except  in  Nice, 
but  there  is  a  great  deal,  and  even  very 
excellent. 

After  the  drive  we  went  down  the 
Corso,  thronged  with  carriages,  between 

rows  of  pedestrians  of  all  classes.    D 

was  among  them.  Now  that  my  eyes  are 
opened  to  see  the  beauties  and  antiquities 
of  Rome,  I  am  growing  curious,  eager  to 
visit  everything.  I  am  no  longer  drowsy. 
I  am  in  a  hurry  to  be  everywhere.  I  want 
to  live  at  full  speed  again.  Ah !  if  only 
I  could !  .  .  .  Again  a  longing  for  Nice. 
The  poorest  thing,  by  resisting,  gains 
worth.  Be  thoroughly  convinced  of  this 
genuine  truth.  Do  not  believe  that  I  am 
stupefied  to  the  point  of  not  seeing  beyond 
121 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

the  city  of  S ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am 

more  ambitious  than  ever.  But  meanwhile, 
to  spit  upon  some  one  who  has  spit  on  us, 
to  give  the  person  a  kick,  is  a  pleasure 
which  every  well-born  soul  can  permit 
itself. 

Friday,  January  7th,  1876. 
Goodness !  What  prices  people  ask  in 
Rome!  For  1,800  francs  one  has  only  the 
barest  necessaries !  At  the  Hotel  de  Rome 
I  saw  an  apartment  so  large  and  so  fine 
that  it  made  my  head  ache.  In  France  we 
have  no  idea  of  this  grandeur,  this  ancient 
majesty.-  After  much  searching  we  have 
taken  an  apartment  in  the  second  story  of 
the  Hotel  de  Londres,  with  a  balcony  look- 
ing out  upon  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  a 
handsome  drawing-room,  several  bed- 
rooms, and  a  study.    We  went  to  B 's 

studio.     He  has  very  fair  talent. 
122 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
Tuesday,  January  11th,  1876. 

We  did  not  go  out,  but  the  artist  Ka- 
lorbinski  came,  and  to-morrow  the  lessons 
will  begin.  Monseigneur  de  Faloux,  being 
unable  to  go  out  himself,  sent  the  Chev- 
alier Rossy  to  bring  us  a  number  of  pleas- 
ant messages.  I  received  him.  I  have 
learned  a  great  deal  about  affairs  in  the 
city. 

I  am  very  proud  of  receiving  some  one 
myself.  It  seems  like  a  sovereign's  first 
decree.  The  Russian  priest  has  come  to 
call  on  us  too.  I  like  the  cowled  monks 
in  Rome.  They  are  new  to  me,  and  that 
pleases  me. 

At  last  I  have  a  teacher  of  painting; 
that  is  something.  This  evening  I  see 
everything  in  rose-colour,  and  I  am  al- 
ready thinking  of  a  letter  in  which  it  will 
be  said  of  A — — :  Et  eum  dicat  super  ma- 
litiosum,  improbum,  inhonestum,  cupidum, 
123 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

luxuriosum,  ebriosuin!  Exactly  what 
Septimus  Severus  said  of  Albinus. 

If  only  the  winter  would  pass  more 
quickly.  With  all  my  misfortunes,  I  feel 
better  in  Nice,  I  can  give  myself  up  to 
despair  as  much  as  I  please.  Only  last 
Spring,  there  was  nobody  there.    The  best 

people  gathered  around  us.     P was 

deserted,  so  were  the  others.  While  this 
Spring  there  will  again  be  nobody,  but 
P will  have  Miss  R .  These  la- 
dies, under  the  leadership  of  T ,  will 

form   a   sort   of   court,   like   that  of  the 

young  Princess  G and  Mme.  T 

three  months  since.  Both  died  three 
months  ago. 

We  shall  see.  Meanwhile  let  us  study, 
and  try  to  go  into  society.  Let  us  pray 
to  God,  and  amuse  ourselves  by  writing 
letters. 


124 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
Wednesday,  January  12th,  1876. 

B and  his  cousin  have  called  to  see 

us.  When  these  Russians  go,  I  put  on 
my  dressing  gown  again,  and  say  a  lot  of 
things,  and  rank  myself  among  the  god- 
desses, then  descend  to  calling  myself  a 
little  bundle  of  dirty  linen. 

I  like  to  indulge  in  extravagant 
speeches,  and  make  Mamma  laugh.  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  B ,  this  charming 

friend  gives  me  the  news  of  Nice.     P 

has  had  a  reception,  and  everybody  went. 
It  seems  that  we  were  mentioned  in  the 
presence  of  quite  a  large  number  of  per- 
sons in  the  consul's  house,  and  the  consul 
and  his  wife  said  nothing  but  good  about 
us. 

"  I  was  glad,"  B wrote,  "  to  see 

that  they  were  your  friends,  too, 
though  you  no  longer  went  there  so 
often." 

125 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
After  all,  I  am  very  happy,  very  calm, 
and  I  am  going  to  bed. 


Thursday,  January  13th,  1876. 

Mamma  and  Dina  are  at  church.  It  is 
our  New  Year's  Day,  and  I  have  stayed 
at  home  to  sew.  That  is  my  whim  at 
present,  and  I  must  do  what  I  wish. 
B called  to  offer  his  good  wishes. 

Not  until  four  o'clock  did  they  succeed 
in  dragging  me  out  of  the  house  and,  at 
five  o'clock,  Mamma  is  going  to  the  em- 
bassy.    That  is  the  hour  Baronne  D 

receives. 

We  had  a  telegram  from  Barnola.  He 
congratulates  us,  and  reminded  me  of  the 
promise  I  made  to  drink  a  glass  of  water 
at  the  Fountain  of  Trevi  at  two  o'clock 
on  the  Russian  New  Year's  Day.  He 
vowed  friendship,  I  did  the  same. 

I  received  a  letter  from  my  aunt,  in 
126 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

which  she  told  me  that  A was  paying 

attention  to  an  English  girl  whom  she 
has  nicknamed  Olive.  My  aunt  has  so 
lively  an  imagination.  At  the  end  of  three 
days  of  our  acquaintance  with  the  Mar- 
vel, she  told  me  that  the  poor  fool  was 
in  love  with  me.  And  she  pitied  him  with 
eager  kindness  while  predicting  for  him 
the  fate  of  the  Polish  count.  Now  she  has 
seen  him  at  Monaco  with  the  girl,  and  she 
is  already  marrying  them.  Oh !  it  is  really 
atrocious — always  conjectures!  Ah!  if  I 
could  know  the  truth.  Have  patience, 
that  is  easy  to  write.  But  to  show  it ! 
Patience  is  the  virtue  of  sluggish — but 
gentle,  foolish  souls. 

I  don't  think  I  love  the  Marvel,  I  don't 
find  him  in  my  heart ;  but  at  any  rate,  the 
surface  is  very  much  occupied  with  him. 
If  he  loved  me,  I  shouldn't  care  very  much, 
that  is  the  truth. 

127 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
Friday,  January  14th,  1876. 
We  met  on  the  Pincio  Count  B — 


who  started  at  seeing  me,  then  bowed  to 
my  mother. 

At  five   o'clock   we  went  to   see  Mon- 

seigneur  F ,  a  thin,  black,  agile  old 

priest  in  a  wig,  a  Jesuit,  a  hypocrite.  He 
received  us  very  courteously  in  his  re- 
markable drawing-rooms,  filled  with  things 
in  the  best  taste.  Gobelins,  pictures,  and 
all  this  in  the  dwelling  of  a  detestable 
Jesuit.     Well,  well! 

We  all  went  to  walk  in  the  Villa 
Borghese,  which  is  more  beautiful  than  the 
Doria.    There  was  a  crowd  of  people,  and 

the  pretty  Princess  M was  walking 

like  any  ordinary  mortal,  followed  by  her 
carriage,  with  the  coachman  and  two  foot- 
men in  red  livery.  This  quantity  of  car- 
riages with  coats  of  arms  saddened  me. 
We  know  nobody,  God  help  me !  Perhaps 
128 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
I  am  ridiculous  with  my  complaints,  and 
my  eternal  prayers !  I  am  so  miserable ! 
This  evening  Mamma  asked  the  date  of 
last  year's  carnival ;  I  took  out  my  journal 
and,  without  noticing  it,  spent  two  hours 
turning  over  the  leaves. 

I  said  to  myself:  I  am  living  to  be 
happy !  Everything  must  bow  before  me  ! 
And  see  how  it  is — the  idea  that  I  could 
fail  in  anything  never  occurred  to  me. 

A  delay,  yes,  but  a  complete  failure, 
nonsense ! — And  I  see  with  terror  and  hu- 
miliation that  I  was  deceived,  that  nothing 
happens  as  I  wish.  It  is  not  because  I 
love  some  one ;  I  do  not  love  anybody  seri- 
ously; I  love  a  coronet  and  money.  It 
is  terrible  to  think  that  everything  is  es- 
caping. Each  instant  I  long  to  pray  to 
God,  and  each  instant  I  stop  myself.  I 
shall    pray    again,    let    what    will    hap- 


pen! 


129 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
My  God,  Holy  Virgin,  do  not  scorn  me, 
take  me  under  your  protection. 

Sunday,  January  16th,  1876. 

I  feel  that  I  shall  write  badly,  for  I  have 
just  been  reading  my  old  journal. 
Mamma  begged  me  to  read  the  period  of 

G .     I  read  it,  passing  over  a  number 

of  things.  What  is  perfectly  simple  when 
written  is  no  longer  so  when  read  aloud. 
My  face  burned,  my  fingers  grew  cold,  and 
I  ended  by  saying  that  I  could  not 
go  on. 

"  She  will  read  it  to  us  in  two  years," 
said  Mamma. 

After    St.    Peter's,    Mamma    went    to 

Baron  d'l 's,  the  ambassador's  cousin. 

She  made  his  acquaintance  at  the  ambas- 
sadress's. These  people  are  very  simple 
and  agreeable.  I  liked  the  baron  espe- 
cially. 

130 


: 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
There  was  a  crowd  on  the  Pincio,  the 
Corso     and     the     Piazza     Colonna     were 
thronged  with   carriages   and  people  re- 
turning from  the  Pincio. 

We  dined  at  the  table  d'hote  because 
e  son  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Baden  was 
o  dine  there.  A  number  of  society  people 
were  present,  and  the  Grand  Duke  is  a 
pleasant  fellow  enough — for  a  Grand 
Duke. 

Wednesday,  January  19th,  1876. 
We  went  to  the  Pincio,  there  were   a 

great  many  people.     The  Due  de  L , 

son   of   the   Grand   Duchess   M ,   the 

emperor's    sister,    was    there    with    Mme. 

A ,   the   wife   of   a   Russian    prefect. 

The  Due  de  L saw  her  and  was  cap- 
tivated. Since  then  she  is  always  with 
him.  It  is  said  that  they  are  secretly 
married  and  live  abroad.  That  is  what 
131 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

people  call  having  happiness.  She  had 
liveried  servants  and  magnificent  horses — 
suitable,  I  should  think,  for  the  niece  of 
the  Emperor  of  Russia. 

January  19th,  1876. 

At  the  church  of  St.  John  we  met  Ba- 

ronne  d'l ,  the  ambassadress's  cousin, 

who  came  up  to  Mamma  and  talked  with 
her  a  long  time,  apologising  for  not  having 
yet  called,  on  account  of  her  husband's 
illness.  Mamma  went  to  her  house  last 
Sunday,  three  days  ago. 

From  there  to  the  Pincio,  then  to  the 
Corso,  crowds  everywhere,  I  like  this  an- 
imation. 

My  aunt  wrote  that  the  Marvel,  but  she 
doesn't  call  him  that,  everybody  at  Nice 
in  our  house  calls  him  nothing  but  the 
"  shaved  magpie,"  so  my  aunt  wrote  that 
the  "  shaved  magpie  "  was  at  the  opera, 
132 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
and  did  nothing  all  the  evening  but  weep, 
actually  weep. 

There  is  news  from  Russia,  nothing 
good,  I  think  of  nothing  but  praying  to 
God,  and  am  in  fear. 

I  pity  myself  now,  what  would  it  be  if 
we  should  lose  our  fortune  !    Horrible ! 

I  pray  to  God  and  tremble.  God  will 
not  abandon  me. 

Rome  bores  me;  Nice  is  my  beloved 
country.  I  see  Rome,  Paris,  London, 
kings,  courts,  but  there  is  nothing  so 
pretty  as  my  dear  villa.  If  ever  I  am  rich, 
titled,  and  happy,  I  shall  not  forget  it. 
I  shall  spend  several  months  of  the  year 
there !  no,  several  months — I  could  not  do 
that,  for  everywhere,  except  in  London, 
winter  is  the  principal  season. 

We  went  to  the  photographer,  S 's, 

133 


THE    NEW    JOURNAL    OF 
to  tell  him  that  I  would  come  to  pose  on 
Monday.     I  saw  there  a  number  of  por- 
traits of  people  I  know.     While  looking 

at  L ,  his  wife,  and  L D ,  it 

seemed  as  if  he  were  going  to  bow  to  me. 
Then  a  bewitching  woman  with  big,  deep 
eyes,  and  heavy  eyebrows  above  a  straight 

nose.     She  resembles  R .     Dina  says 

it  is  she.  But  no,  she  has  not  that  round 
chin  with  a  dimple,  and  those  magnificent 
eyes.  No,  it  can't  be,  she  is  not  so  beau- 
tiful. 

Then  to  the  Pincio,  then  to  a  milliner 
to  order  a  Marie  Stuart  cap,  and  a  Marie 
Antoinette  turban.  The  woman  showed 
me  a  gown  she  was  making  for  a  ball  at 
the  Quirinal,  day  after  to-morrow. 

This  plunges  me  into  inconceivable  tor- 
ture.    If  you  knew  how  I  dread  spending 
the  Carnival  without  a  single  amusement! 
We  found  the  ambassadress's  card  at  our 
134 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

home,  so  she  has  returned  the  visit.  It 
is  rather  late,  all  the  same.  Her  cousin 
came  at  dinner  time.    The  Grand  Duke  of 

L asked  who  we  were  (who  is  that 

pretty   Russian?).     B says   Mamma 

ought  to  go  to  call  on  the  Marquise  de 

M .     He  says  it  is  the  custom  here, 

especially  from  a  foreigner  to  a  Roman 
lady.  Let  Mamma  go  anywhere,  provided 
that  I  can  go  where  I  like.  My  torture 
has  no  bounds,  I  am  dying  of  it  every  in- 
stant. Do  you  want  a  proof  of  my  de- 
spair?    There  are  times  when  I  hope  to 

marry  A and  be  something  at  Nice 

with  P ;  that  gives  the  measure  of  my 

discouragement,  my  desperation. 

I  have  had  this  humiliating  thought 
once  or  twice.  I  tell  you  to  show  you 
how  low  I  descend,  how  vexed,  how  mar- 
tyrised I  am  to  live  in  this  way.  Who  will 
restore  my  lost  time,  my  best  time?  I 
135 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
have  used  every  expression,  and  am  dying 
because    I    cannot    make    myself    under- 
stood. 

I  have  written  to  C and  to  B . 

I  was  in  a  hurry  to  tell  them  the  good 
news.  I  have  the  very  weak  middle  notes 
which  accompany  the  abnormal  compass 
of  my  voice.  I  have  found  a  method  of 
singing  that  strengthens  them  wonder- 
fully, so  that  they  are  almost  as  strong 
as  the  rest.     This  delights  me,  and  I  am 

eager  to  write  about  it  to  B ,  who  is 

so  much  interested  in  my  voice.  But  for 
that,  it  would  have  required  two  years 
study  to  render  them  satisfactory.  I 
thank  God,  and  will  pray  to  Him  for  the 
other  things. 

Thursday,  January  20th,  1876. 
After  three  years  study,  if  no  accident 
happens,  I  shall  have  a  voice  such  as  is 
136 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 

rarely  heard,  and  I  shall  not  yet  be 
twenty. 

F is  severe  and  just. 

I  am  afraid  to  say  all  that  I  think  of 
my  voice;  a  strange  modesty  closes  my 
lips.  Yet  I  have  always  spoken  of  myself 
as  if  I  were  talking  of  some  one  else, 
which  has  perhaps  made  people  think  me 
blind  and  arrogant. 

Friday,  January  21st,  1876. 
I  want  to  have  a  gown  like  the  one  worn 
by  Dante's  Beatrice. 

Saturday,  January  22nd,  1876. 
Still  another  proof  of  the  falsity  of  the 
cards.     Yesterday  I  had  a  sort  of  sor- 
ceress come  and  she  pretended  to  give  me 
good  luck.     She  told  me  to  call  the  person 

I  wanted.    I  called  A and  that  woman 

told  me  he  could  not  live  without  me ;  that 
137 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 
he  was  dying  of  grief  and  jealousy,  and 
he  was  especially  jealous  because  a  wicked 
woman  had  told  him  that  I  loved  another 
man. 

May  all  the  witches  die!  May  all  the 
cards  burn !    They  are  nothing  but  lies  ! 

Sunday,  January  23d,  1876. 

I  am  making  a  large  white  garment  for 
the  house,  for  the  spring,  in  Nice.  Nice, 
miserable  city,  why  cannot  I  live  there  as 
I  like?  In  Nice  I  know  everybody,  but 
to  live  in  Nice  except  as  a  queen  isn't 
worth  while. 

I  am  sad,  I  am  in  a  foreign  country,  I 
long  to  return  home,  just  for  a  single  day, 
for  if  I  stayed  longer,  I  should  want  to 
go  back. 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  the  Apollo 
theatre,  they  gave  the  Vestal  and  a  ballet. 
I  wore  white  with  a  Greek  coiffure.  There 
138 


MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF 
were  a  great  many  people,  and  an  espe- 
cially large  number  of  men.     Not  a  single 
woman  between  our  box  and  the  stage. 


From  Monday,  January  9,bth,  to  Feb- 
ruary 10th,  1876:  Rome,  Hotel  de  Lon- 
dres,  Piazza  di  Spagna. 

I  swear  that  all  these  tragic  and  jealous 

remarks  about  A were  written  under 

the  influence  of  romantic  reading,  and  that 
I  only  half  believed  them  while  I  was 
writing,  exciting  myself  for  the  pleasure 
of  it,  and  I  greatly  regret  these  exaggera- 
tions. 

The  archimandrite  has  been  at  our 
house.  He  is  a  charming  man  who,  after 
having  been  a  soldier,  turned  monk  from 
despair  at  having  lost  his  wife.     He  told 

us  that  there  was  a  Madame  S who 

139 


THE    NEW   JOURNAL   OF 

greatly  desired  to  make  Mamma's  ac- 
quaintance. 

Returning  from  the  photographer's, 
such  dismal  thoughts  filled  my  brain  that 
I  did  not  dress  and  let  Mamma  and  Dina 
go  out  without  me.  Being  left  alone,  I 
am  very  sad,  I  am  singing  "  Mignon." 

Tuesday,  January  25th,  1876. 

I  am  homesick.  I  took  a  singing  lesson, 
and  then  went  out  with  Mamma.    We  went 

to  M.  de  E 's  studio.     He  requested 

permission  to  present  a  very  elegant  and 
popular  M.  Benard,  received  everywhere 
in  society.  He  told  us  a  great  many 
things  about  Rome. 

From  there  we  went  to  Monseigneur  de 

F 's,  who  yesterday  asked  if  we  had 

had  our  audience. 

This  priest  is  turning  out  better  and 
better,  he  has  even  made  scandals.  He 
140 


MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 
told  us  that  I  had  been  noticed  at  the 
opera,  my  white  dress  had  attracted  at- 
tention, and  said  that  to  go  to  court  we 
need  only  write  to  the  Minister  or  Am- 
bassador. 

"  I  should  like,"  he  added,  "  to  be  able 
to  open  to  you  the  other  door,  as  I  have 
opened  the  Holy  One." 

"  O  Monseigneur,"  I  replied,  "  the  Holy 
Door  is  far  preferable." 

From  there  to  the  residence  of  Madame 

S (the  archimandrite  had  told  her, 

and  she  was  expecting  us),  who  is  the  most 
charming  and  the  ugliest  woman  in  the 
world.  She  received  us  in  the  most  de- 
lightful way,  and  immediately  spoke  of  the 
Quirinal. 


141 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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